


WINTER BREAK, 1997

by coughcough



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Smut, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reddie, Slow Build, shamelessly 90s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-17 11:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coughcough/pseuds/coughcough
Summary: Richie Tozier goes home for the first time in two years. Eddie Kaspbrak, who hasn't left Derry for more than a month at a time, remembers everything- from Pennywise to prom night.-Rated E for language and mild smut. Happens between the first and second movie, but pulls a lot from the book.





	1. What Richie Tozier Knows

At 20 years old, Richie Tozier knew a few things. He could roll a perfect joint. He knew how to sleep in lectures without getting caught. He knew how to make a chick scream. These were the things he was proud of knowing and never hesitated to share with the general public, an attempt to make his specific skillset common public knowledge. Did it get him weird looks at any event that required a tie? Sure, but that was the price to pay for waking the public. He knew he was a revolutionary in his own right.

For everything Richie did know, there were a few gaps in his knowledge. Why his hairline already felt like it was receding at twenty-years-old. How to get his big mouth to shut up. Why his girlfriend was a bit of a crazy bitch, but just sometimes, and he did love her. Really, really. Or at least really, really liked her. She sat at the end of his bed, reading a textbook and muttering to herself about how something someone said at some time didn’t make any semblance of sense, that they were an idiot. Richie couldn’t help but stare from where he was laying, ignoring the comic book in his hands. He liked the new haircut she had. It reminded him of Ellen DeGeneres. It showed off her jawline. Alexis looked up from her book and gave Richie a look of annoyance.

‘What, Rich.’ She groaned.

‘Nothing. I’m just gonna miss you.’ Half teasing, half-serious. He may have also grabbed his groin suggestively. ‘Two weeks is a long time.’ 

‘Get over it.’ She grinned, looking at him from under mascara-ed eyelashes. He didn’t get the whole deal with makeup. She was handsome with or without. 

Richie gasped and threw a pillow at her. ‘You’re cruel.’

Alexis slapped it away, the pillow landed on the floor with a ‘flump’. ‘And you just made me lose my _fucking_ page!’ She let out a pissed-off noise, a growl—or maybe a whine. Richie laughed. Alexis’s response was to take her book, her bag, and leave the dorm room with a slam of the door and a ‘fuck you’. She was a fucking whirlwind to handle, especially with Richie’s lack of tact. She’d be mad for either six hours or two weeks. They’d been together for five months, and out of those five, they’d been on speaking terms for about three of them. It was kinda hot.

With or without Alexis’s forgiveness, Richie was hitting the road. Exams had passed and winter break had come. Winter in LA was always a bit of a wack time for someone who grew up in Maine. Where was the snow? _Whaddya mean he only had to wear a light sweater to be comfortable in January? _

For the past two years, Richie had stayed on campus through the break, trying to study to distract himself from the empty (and as a result, boring) dorm hall. _All work and no play makes Richie very fucking stir-crazy. _Flights were expensive and he hated driving, but Rich had promised his mom he’d come back home this year. Maggie Tozier had even footed the bill, paying for his plane ticket to ensure her son’s return, saying that he couldn’t ‘I’m busy’ his way out of visiting this year.

There was something about the thought of returning home that put a pit in his stomach. It was blurry. A blurry pit. He’d hadn’t returned for a reason. Richie couldn’t remember what exactly that reason was-- on that note, he couldn’t remember much of anything about Derry. There was also a pit in his brain for most things related to his childhood. Sure, he remembered bits and pieces. He remembered a theatre where he spent most of his time. _The Royal? The Palace? The Paramount?_

He remembered cigarettes with a girl from middle school. Red hair, a looker, but not quite Richie’s type. He had a thing for brunettes. She had moved away before high school. Rich remembered that he was sad about that. There was this weird gummy scar on his palm. He wished he knew how he got that. Probably from doing something cool, getting into a knife fight or something. Richie chuckled at that thought. Since when did he do anything cool?

Richie glanced over to the duffle bag sitting on the floor by his desk, daring him to pack. To get a move on, get back home.

_Me hungry, Richie. Feed me. Clothes. Feed me. Mismatched socks, Richie. Feed me. _

‘Fine, you whiney shit,’ Richie mumbled, pushing himself off the bed. ‘Just promise me one thing, Mr. Duffle Bag.’

_What? What me promise? Me hungry. _

‘That this trip will be fine and I won’t lose my shit and murder my whole family.’

_Me just duffle bag. _

Richie gave the bag a sad look before practically dumping his entire wardrobe into his mouth. ‘That’s okay, Baggy. I love you anyway.’

_Ohm-nom-nom-nam. _

‘That’s fucking gross. Chew with your mouth closed, dude.’ On that command, the duffle bag fell silent. Richie threw in his toothbrush and deodorant and zipped it shut. Packed and ready. He had a bit of time before he had to be at the airport. Enough time to apologize to Alexis? Some quick mental math concluded that yeah, sure. There’d be enough time. Twenty minutes, if he played his cards right. It never hurt to be in her good books. Good books meant socks on doorknobs or a mouth on his knob.

‘Nice one.’ Richie thought, slinging the bag onto his shoulder. He patted his jeans to make sure he had his wallet. _Searching for target… searching for target… Target acquired. Take the shot, captain? Aye-aye-- s_hit, where was his Walkman? Can’t leave without it.

_We’ve lost sights, Cap. _

_ Arrr, you grunt! Didye check yer goddamned desk, recruit?_

Right, there it was. Richie grabbed it and shoved it into Mr. Duffle Bag. 

~

Richie trekked the familiar path to Alexis’s dorm, beige walls splattered with various posters about clubs or people who would write your papers for you. Everyone seemed to be out and about, saying goodbyes and exchanging the presents they could afford on a student budget. The rooms that had their doors opened showed people packing bags. He and Alexis were in the same co-ed, so it wasn’t a particularly long journey. He liked seeing everyone getting along-- everyone but him and his girlfriend. He suddenly heard someone yelp his name from behind him. He turned to see Robbie Adams, G.S.A. president and resident freakazoid. The freakazoid part was unrelated to the G.S.A. part, though. 

‘The fuck do you want, Adams? I got lady problems to solve!’ Richie yelled down the hall. Robbie Adams quickened his pace and made his way next to Richie, who proceeded to turn back around to face the way he was going. Robbie was a pest and Richie was in a bit of a hurry. He didn’t have the time to talk to this kid.

‘Richie Tozier is having lady problems? Has he finally decided to come and play for the home team?’ Adams teased with a big grin, warm brown eyes sparkling and perfect white teeth gleaming with the strength of a thousand suns. Rich had to squint to look at them. Fucking pest.

‘You have fun with your ‘_Ru-Pauls’_, as the kids call them, but no.’ Richie clarified to the head of the GSA. Something about the way Adams looked at him twisted something in him. Something below his stomach that was making him feel fuckin’ gross. He wasn’t a homophobe, just-- this kid just set him on edge for some fucking reason. ‘Yeah, no.’ He restated when Adams made a hurt puppy-dog face.

‘Old man, you should come to a meeting sometime. It’s fun!’ The other boy tried to persuade, but Richie stared straight ahead. Rich gave a slight shake of the head and Adams took a step so that he was in front of Richie, forcing Richie to stop and look him in the eyes. Richie had to hold back a groan of annoyance at the way this kid stood way too close. Their toes were practically touching and Richie could feel his cheeks heating up.

‘Really. Come. We’re always looking for more people. Allies or otherwise.’ Adams was one step too close to him. That ‘otherwise’ felt pointed and Richie wasn’t liking what the other boy was not so subtly implying. Richie looked at Adams, who was maybe an inch shorter and tan and handsome with the softest hair that fell in his eyes like he constantly on a magazine cover for pre-teen girls. These fucking gorgeous L.A. boys. Richie always felt like a pale, lanky-in-all-the-wrong-places dork next to them.

‘Come to a meeting after the break. I’ll make sure you have a blast and if not I’ll… I’ll do... I’ll do something really stupid, that’s for sure. Embarrass myself in front of everyone, for you.’ Adams promised with another perfect smile that was blinding Richie. 

The prettiest faces weren’t always the brightest, Richie thought. ‘Fine. But only if it’s really, truly, very stupid.’ And Richie was only making fun of him a little.

‘Happy holidays, Tozier.’ Adams reached out to put a hand on Richie’s arm and it felt like fucking fire. Richie looked around to see if anyone was watching them, the small blush from earlier now turning his pale ass into what felt like a fucking tomato. He looked down at the hand on his arm, his gut doing acrobatics.

‘Yeah, you too.’ Richie said, barely managing to get the words out over his twisting stomach and the weird lump in his throat that was forming. Adams patted his shoulder before giving Richie another damned gorgeous smile and walking off and Richie definitely did not watch Adam’s ass disappear down the hall before remembering his task- Alexis. Alexis, and then his homecoming. He didn’t have time to think about Adams, that fucking weirdo. He started walking again. No time to think about that. Not in this life.

Seconds later he was banging on Alexis’s door. ‘Al,’ a nickname derived from Paul Simon’s ‘You Can Call Me Al’ (Richie preferred ‘Me and Julio’). They had seen him in concert on the third date, and Alexis always thought it was funny. Humour, however, wasn’t getting Richie anywhere right now. ‘Let me in! Can’t we just talk?’

‘Screw you!’ She yelled through the closed door. Richie could hear Alexis’s roommate telling her to calm down as something ceramic shattered against the door on Alexis’s side. A loud sob.

‘I didn’t- I didn’t even do anything!’ Richie could feel his voice getting frantic, all high pitched. There was more shuffling on the inside before the door swung open. Alexis stood there, mascara practically running down to her collarbones. They stared at each other for a second, Alexis catching her breath.

‘Don’t make me slam this on you again.’ Alexis threatened, but her blubbering lip betrayed any real violence she could have mustered.

‘Just tell me what I did wrong.’ Richie demanded, voice exasperated. ‘You really wanna go to break on bad terms?’

‘This is just what you always do! You always do this!’ Alexis shouted, backing off from the door, allowing Richie to squeeze into the girl’s dorm. He stepped over the shards of ceramic, dropping his duffle bag down onto the floor. Looks like one of Alexis’s succulents had bitten the dust. ‘Like, I can’t get good grades like you! I actually have to try, I can’t jerk off and smoke pot all day! You can’t distract me like that- constantly!’

‘I can’t jerk off _all_ day. I’m not 13 anymore.’ Richie responded, to which Alexis stopped her frantic walking to glare at him.

‘My mom was so fucking right about you.’ She spat, picking up a sweater that was laying on the ground and whipping at his face. Richie caught it. If he was a girl he would throw it right back at her, but he’s not, and he knows that it would be bad if he did, so he puts it down with a bizarre tenderness on her bed.

‘What the fuck do you even mean?’ He asked, voice shifting into a confused whine.

‘She said you’re an emotionally stunted child and that I’m wasting my time.’

‘Well… that..’ Richie struggled for a way to turn that into a joke. That one kinda hurt. ‘That seems like a harsh assessment.’

‘She also said… She said you were a good for nothing, future wash-up who was only going to drag me down in life.’

‘But she knows I have a 4.0 GPA, right?’

Al bit her lip. A few seconds passed as she thought her thoughts about something, someone, somewhere, sometime. It felt like the clock froze as Richie watched her deliberate on something he couldn’t know or understand. When she looked back up there was a new resolve in her eyes. ‘Stacey?’ She asked, turning to her roommate, who had been sitting there the whole time. Richie knew where this was going and smirked.

‘I know the deal.’ Stacey said, picking up what she had been doing and making a quick and awkward beeline for the door. She shut it behind her. Alexis looked Richie up and down, taking a step towards him. Then another step. Two more steps. Then Stacey quickly poked her head through the door and squealed a quick ‘please don’t fuck on my bed’ before closing the door again. _To be young and in lust! What light through yonder window break, 'tis the east and fair Alexis a sexy motherfucker!_

‘Show me your fucking 4.0,’ Alexis purred, one hand on Richie’s shoulder and the other hand cradling his crotch.

‘It’s more of a 6.0, or 7.0 on a good day-‘ Richie’s sentence trailed off and became an embarrassing noise as Alexis’s hand-applied pressure. Alexis took the hand from Richie’s shoulder and used it to start unbuckling, pulling their hips closer and shutting up anymore attempted to jokes or arguments from Richie’s mouth by melding it with hers, hot and slimy. There wasn’t much method to it, just tongue bashing against tongue, a battle for superiority over one another. Teeth clashed. Expletives were exchanged. Alexis pulled back for a breath, then pulled down, taking Richie’s pants and underwear with her.

Alexis spat into her hand and started stroking him, up-down, up-down. Richie could feel himself getting hard, suppressing a groan. Alexis took him into her mouth, and Richie had to steady himself with a fistful of her short hair. Alexis dug her nails into his thigh as an act of small revenge. Richie hissed, but the short hair was so nice. Long hair always got in the way. He could floss his teeth with long hair, but not the short, soft hair. It was a similar length to Robbie’s. Richie grabbed harder, looking down at that hair. Alexis looked up at Richie with a glare. He closed his eyes and found himself wishing that those blue eyes were Robbie’s brown ones, that it was Robbie’s hair. That it was Robbie who was blowing him. Robbie’s nails in his thigh. Richie’s hand in Robbie’s hair. He’d make him fucking choke on his cock. Richie moved the head he was holding faster. Yeah, that’d be so fucking great. So _fucking_ great, god—was that feeling building in him shame or an orgasm?

Both. Alexis’s mouth made a choked sound as Richie shot his rope.

‘Are you fucking serious?’ She asked, pulling off, wiping her mouth. ‘That was like five seconds!’

Richie opened his eyes. ‘You’re just a pro, I guess.’ His voice sounded like it was a hundred miles away.

‘You guess? Fuck you, you guess! Fuck you! Don’t call me until new years, dickhead!’ Alexis spat, pushing herself off her knees. She had tears in her eyes as she bumped his shoulder and ran out of a dorm room door for the second time in a day. He was sure that the people who had gathered to watch the show of his relationship destructing caught a glimpse of his bare ass by the way Alexis had flung open the door. The stupid fucking anti-slam mechanic left the door to close by itself, incredibly slow. Richie waved to the onlookers.

‘Enjoy the show?’ Richie said with only the slightest twinge of indignancy at being spied on. Did people not have anything better to do than watch his love life explode? The door finally shut and Richie was alone with his stupid fucking thoughts.

Richie had just… done _that_. With the thought of him… a _him_, for fuck's sake, in his head. _Queer Robbie Adams. Apparently, Queer Richie Tozier._ That lump in his throat returned. Richie closed his eyes tighter than a virgin’s legs. That was stuff Richie didn’t think about. He didn’t want to know that part of himself. Wait, no. It’s not a part of him. It was just a mistake. He wasn’t what Robbie was. And _this_—this was the exception in Richie’s sex life. This kinda thing rarely happened. He liked girls. He liked vaginas. He liked girls. He liked vaginas. _One more time, for the people in the back._

A deep breath. Richie opened his eyes, shoving those thoughts way down. He was now acutely aware of the fact he was in someone else dorm with his traitorous dick out. He bent down to pull up his jeans. Mr. Duffle Bag was looking at him expectantly.

_Me want go, homo. _

‘What the fuck did you just say?’ Richie asked, temper blaring. He wasn’t a fucking homo. Mr. Duffle Bag didn’t know him like that. He was a fucking duffle bag, for Christ’s sake!

_Me want go home. _

Right, home. It was time to go home-- Derry, Maine.

But maybe a quick shower first.


	2. Welcome Home, Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomit warning, depictions of anxiety, abuse

_December 22th, 1997, 9:21 P.M. Touchdown in Bangor, Maine. _

Richie could be found on his knees in front of an airport toilet, vomiting up complimentary soda and pretzels. Once Richie’s stomach felt empty, he pulled his face away from the ceramic bowl with someone else’s stray pube staring at him. The headphone wire that went to his Walkman, still blaring his Weird Al disc (he had memorized every single word on the album), had been caught in the crossfire of Richie’s stomach contents and left a nice trail of vomit on his hoodie. Richie cussed, throwing his head backward.

The flight was rough, sure. He had never felt more like whatever the shit is inside a maraca, being tossed around in every single direction imaginable with no say in the matter. It was just him and the pilot trying to keep a deranged, ecstatic tempo. That was only the start. When his feet touched Maine soil it was like his brain just went off the fucking shits. His heart jumped into his throat, pumping at 200 miles an hour. His palms went sweaty. His stomach decided that it would lose all retentive properties it had and resulted in a beeline to the toilets. Richie had enough manners to not puke in baggage claim.

_ ‘But what did his brain do?’ the small children ask, on the edge of their seats. ‘What did his brain do!’ _

His brain remembered—something. The howl of evil laughter echoed in his head like a yelp into a large tin can and everywhere Richie looked, he saw the ghosts of a life he barely knew- the overlapping of all the memories from this airport. He could see himself going away to college, his parents, who were never the most touchy-feely, succumbing to Richie’s bittersweet hug. One of the few times in Richie’s life that he had cried. He was 18 and terrified of being away from home, not that he’d ever let anyone know that, but was also terrified of leaving his parents in Derry. Something had happened—and it was done now, something had been done-- but the feeling that they weren’t safe was always reaching at him, pulling on his pant leg and demanding to be noticed. A car crash, maybe? A fire?

He saw another goodbye. Stan. Stan the Man. One of his best friends from middle school. Stan was getting on a plane, heading off to a better place than where they were. His dad had been invited to preach in Austin, Texas and the whole Uris family was going with them. That was in 91’ when they were 15 in age but traumatized beyond their years. God, had one of their teacher’s diddled them or something?

Richie couldn’t help but let out an uneasy laughed as all of these thoughts bust through to the background track of Weird Al’s ‘My Bologna’. Then he found himself laughing hard, harder until his lungs were bursting and hacking. They demanded a minute to breathe and when Richie found himself coming down from that emotional rollercoaster he called upon his jelly legs to stand. He got himself up off the sticky bathroom floor and to the confusingly sticky bathroom sinks. Shouldn’t those at least be clean?

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, panicked eyes staring right back at him through thick glasses. His sorry shape forced him to move, turning on the tap water and pushing his glasses onto his forehead. He cupped his hands and filled them, bringing them to his mouth to try and rinse the taste of vomit.

Maggie Tozier was waiting at the gates. She looked the same way-- same hairdo. Dark brown dyed blonde and permed. Same tight body language. Everyone always told Richie he looked like his mom. They had the same bump in the bridge of their noses, the same thin lips. Maggie had the same tears she had cried when he had left her two years ago, now threatening to spill again upon his return. She held a manicured hand to her face as Richie walked up to her.

‘Mom,’ Reddie breathed, trying to acclimatize to human contact after a brutal seven-hour flight and quick emotional breakdown. Maggie pulled the headphones from Richie’s ears, draping them tenderly around his neck. She smiled, putting her hands on his shoulders.

‘Richard.’ Maggie pulled him into a contrived, two-second hug. ‘Is... that vomit?’

‘Um, no- it’s actually a bear with two AK-47s. See?’ To demonstrate he held the stain up to his mom’s face, pointing to the stain.

‘Please. Richie.’ A twinge of annoyance. Barely fifteen words had been exchanged and Richie felt like he was 13 again.

‘Lots of turbulence, mom. My stomach got sick.’

‘Your father is waiting in the car.’

‘Okay.’ Richie flicked the pause button on his Walkman and adjusted the strap of Mr. Duffle Bag across his shoulder, who was thankfully keeping silent.

The two began the walkthrough Bangor International and Richie could see through windows that it was already dark and snowing out. There was a sense of calm as they made their way through the airport, the calm that always lurked around the holidays. The calm that hid against the backdrop of snow and broken promises about happy families. Richie watched his mom fix her mascara as she walked in a tiny pocket mirror. Having her by his side was a good feeling, though. Parents protect their kids. That stupid nagging voice whispered _‘Did Betty Ripsom’s parents protect her? Did Georgie’s?’ _

Who the fuck is Georgie?

‘Pardon, Richard?’ Maggie said with raised eyebrows, stopping dead cold in her tracks.

Richie stopped with her. ‘Huh?’ Had he said that out loud?

‘The cussing. I thought we had corrected that.’ She crossed her arms, looking up at the son that had grown taller than her. Despite Richie’s height, she still held all the power.

‘Sorry.’ Richie said, looking down out of shame. Maggie stared down Richie, clearly still peeved. ‘Sorry!’ Richie flung up his hands in defence, going sarcastic. Maggie bit her tongue, thinking for a brief second. She tapped her heeled foot twice before slapping square Richie across the face. Richie blinked. Once, twice. Three times. It hadn’t hurt. Maggie’s hands were small and dainty, no kick to them, but it still took his breath away. She glared at Richie, expectant.

‘I’m sorry.’ He said. Maggie took in a long inhale. Her eyes were tearing up again and she opened her mouth to say something before shutting it with a snap. She gave her son a curt nod before going back into her hurried little walk as if this had never happened. Richie respectfully trailed three steps behind, tail tucked between his legs.

The car ride with his dad (Dr. Wentworth Tozier, don’t forget the Dr.) wasn’t much better and he ended up putting on his headphones after a choked six minutes of catch up conversation leading into a 16-minute combo rant/lecture about how we are your parents, you need to treat us with respect, you need to come home more often, you need to quit mocking Bill Clinton, he’s the god-damned president, and that Richie’s generation is full of no-good slackers. Richie realized he had only packed the one CD and that this was going to be a very, very long few weeks. He found himself dozing in and out to the sound of polka and his dad’s muffled political ramblings.

In one flash of being awake, there was the butcher shop. There was tinsel in the window next to the slaughtered animals. That felt appropriate.

There was the public library. Richie could remember passing by it in the summer. One of his middle school friends liked it there, didn’t they? Ben. Haystack? No, Ben Hanscom. The fat kid. Richie couldn’t recall if he was still in town. He closed his eyes again, resting his warm forehead against the cool backseat window. It felt nice, despite the bumpy road, every grind over concrete being translated into a hit on his head.

When he opened his eyes next he saw the shape of a giant man. Like, an actual giant. Oh, fuck. It was that stupid Paul Bunyan statue. Jesus Christ. It was even more intimidating in the dark. American Hercules, ripped muscles shoddily covered by a painted plaid shirt. Richie readjusted in his seat so he wouldn’t see the statue, kicking up his feet onto the leather interior of his father’s car. Richie’s album had come to a stop and he heard his mother speaking quietly to his father up in the front of the car. Richie looked towards where the sounds were coming from but held his tongue.

‘Those two... poofs up on West Broadway. They have that little Pomeranian.’

‘Really?’ Wentworth asked, more as a requirement to be seen as listening than as genuine interest. Maggie always had an ear for gossip and would recant all of Derry’s going-ons to him at the end of the day.

‘Yes!’ Maggie realized her voice was a little too loud. She didn’t want to wake the son she thought was sleeping, so she spoke in a barely hushed whispered. ‘Yes. And they expect me to make their floral arrangements, Wentworth!’

‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, Mags.’ He reassured, focused more on the snowy road than whatever his wife was saying.

‘Thank you- thank you. Finally, someone with some sense, my god.’

‘It’s not the 60s anymore, mom.’ Richie piped up from the backseat. He was tired, both of the outdated thinking and from lack of sleep. 

‘Just because they do that sort of _thing_ out on the west coast does not mean we do it here.’ Maggie protested, looking at Richie through the driver’s mirror. ‘Remember that before you see your grandma, Richard.’

Richie closed his eyes, trying to fight off a migraine. Nana was a dementia ridden bigot with a perfume that smelt like ashes and dust. He tried to sleep for what felt like the hundredth time, but he could hear something calling to him in his dreams—and it wasn’t Nana asking for a wine glass to be refilled. This voice was shifting and twisting, never keeping one shape. For a second it sounded like a chorus of children. Then it had a stutter.

_ Welcome home, Richie… _

_ R-R-Richie. Wuh-wuh-welcome ba-back. _

_ RICHIE!_

Something slapped his leg and he woke with a start, shooting straight up. He hit his head on the top of the car and let out a hissing groan. His dad stood in front of him, trying to get his overgrown and overtired son out of the backseat and into the Tozier Residence. If Richie was six, Wentworth would have carried him up and tucked him into bed but now his son was the same height and was as heavy as a damned elephant.

‘Let's go. Off your ass.’

‘M’yessir,’ Richie gurgled, sliding himself off the seat. He stretched once he was in the cold, night air. Dirty white sneakers pressed into the immaculate white snow. Mom and dad were already up on the porch, searching their respective purse and pockets for the house key. For Richie, it was such a crystal image. The two of them up there, anxious to get away from the cold and Richie lagging behind. He heard the click of familiar lock opening from down where he was standing in the driveway, the sound muffled by the snow blanket of snow. Everything felt a million miles away in his tired state, watching his parents make their way into the house that was radiating physical warmth. There was a streetlight down the road that was flickering in the winter dark. It looked like someone was standing under the light, staring right back at him. It sent a chill down his spine. That was his cue to go inside. Richie walked the driveway and climbed the stairs to the porch. He looked over his shoulder at the streetlight, something in him telling him to do it. Make sure everything was okay.

The person standing there was now walking toward him. Richie felt his breathing pick up and turned back towards the door, grasping the handle. He pulled at it—the door was stuck. The person, now a man, was closer now, still down in the street. Then Richie heard a bark and turned to see the same man and his dog, now illuminated by the streetlight across from Richie’s house. There was a sigh of relief as the man and Pomeranian passed by, not any danger to Richie. He tried the door again and it opened, a blast of heat hitting him in the face and steaming up his glasses.

The Tozier home was plush-- incredibly upper-middle class. Rich varnished woods draped in fluffy carpets. Couches so comfortable you could sink into them and drown. Classic eggshell whites broke up by dated family photos and the occasional expensive painting. Mrs. Tozier had developed a taste for anything that could be even remotely mistaken as a Pollock painting and made sure to display all the best ones on the first floor for every distinguished visitor. Richie could see the Christmas tree from where he stood in the foyer, bold and covered in tasteful red and white baubles. That was also his mother’s. Richie’s father, Wentworth, kept a quiet silver menorah in the kitchen. It spent its time gathering dust, tenderly kept in the attic, only taken out for those eight days of the year which Richie would watch with quiet observance. Wentworth would light the candles and say quiet prayers as Christmas carols played in the background.

‘Richie, sweetheart, get to bed.’ Mom said, taking off her jacket and neatly hanging it on it’s designated hook. Richie noticed the hook that was his as a kid was supporting an umbrella. He wondered where he fit into this world after being gone so long. It was a world he had left behind, but to be replaced by an umbrella? Ouch.

‘Richie. Bed.’ Mother repeated, trying to get through to a very zoned out son.

‘Oh, yeah. Okay.’ Richie grabbed his bag from where his father had left it on the floor before retreating to his study. At least his dad was kind enough to bring the bag in. Richie kicked his sneakers off and kissed his mother on the forehead before clambering up the stairs, into his childhood bedroom.

When he woke up the next morning he had no idea that he was a twenty-year-old undergrad student, not a 15-year-old kid with a penchant for street fighter and all things comedy. He sat himself up on the edge of his bed that had been too small for him since he hit a major growth spurt in grade 11 and flicked the sleep boogers out of his eyes before putting on his glasses. Richie looked out the window, seeing the frosted world. For everything awful that had happened in Derry—Richie could recall history classes talking about The Black Spot and gang bosses slaughtering each other on main street. There was also all… All those murders from when he was in middle school. A bunch of kids turned up dead and the whole town was on edge, fucking up his summer nights by enforcing a curfew that had him home at six o'clock every night. Richie searched his brain for the cause—right, Henry Bowers.

Henry Bowers. Mullet wearing asshole. Bowers had been found guilty on 9 counts of murder (at least 20 kids had gone missing, but only those 5, small bodies were found and tied to Bowers). He had also taken a knife to his father’s throat and slaughtered his gang of fellow bullies- Victor Criss, Reginald Huggins, Patrick Hocksetter. Police had speculated that many more of those missing kids were tied to Bowers. Bowers was still a minor and the press said he was being evaluated for mental soundness before the whole thing just kinda disappeared. Nobody talked about it anymore. Parents hated to remember the summer of 89’ and the kids didn’t want to upset their parents. Richie just hoped that wherever that sick fuck was, he was locked up tight with no chance of escape- ever.

‘Great thoughts to start the day with, Rich,’ he chided himself.

Richie stretched his arms above his head, cracking all his back muscles and shaking the sleep out of his bones.

Richie started to get dressed, consulting his closet rather than Mr. Duffle Bag. He found a navy hoodie with some Back to The Future movie art printed on, some black slacks. The pants were ripped at the knees, and Richie remembered why. One crazy party. He had gone with whatever friends he had left towards the end of high school. Mike Hanlon, Richie, and… someone else. He had gotten incredibly smashed, probably the third most intoxicated he had ever been, and after two years filled with late, wild, dance and drug-infused nights Richie had subjected himself too he was still impressed by his younger self. Not that he remembered all too much of that night, probably from all the alcohol. There was a hazy memory of Mike and him dancing goofily in the middle of a crowd that didn’t know them or appreciate their attempts at the robot. Then there was a smaller kid in a pink polo shirt, yelling at him over spilling a drink and Richie was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

His clothes that had been a little baggy two years ago only a tiny bit less baggy now. When Richie looked in the mirror he was met with someone he had grown out of. That awkward kid who made too many dirty jokes. Now, he was an awkward man who made only slightly less dirty jokes and who, as the campus doctor had told him, ‘had grown out of his ADHD’. He’d maybe grown a fraction of an inch. The sweater was slightly constricted across the shoulders and the pants were tighter, a result of the wonderful cafeteria UCLA hosted. He lifted the sweater and looked at his stomach in the mirror. He sucked in until he could see his ribcage before letting out a laugh at how stupid his face looked, all puckered.

‘Richie!’ His mom called from downstairs.

‘Yeah, mom?’ He called back. He hastily tucked the hoodie into his pants, decided that looked stupid, and pulled it back out. Some fingers went through his messy hair in an attempt to tame the curls that Richie didn’t know how to tame.

‘Richie!’ She called again.

Richie sighed and went and stuck his head into the hallway. ‘Yeah, mom?!’

One brief-lived protest later—‘Richie, sweetie, your father is working. You’ll have to drive me.’ Really mom? ‘Yes, Richie. Let’s go. Now.’-- and a stressful, snowy drive to Freese’s Department store Richie found himself stalking around the store out of boredom as his mom picked out last-minute gifts. It was early in the day so the store wasn’t quite yet busy, but it was the holiday season and one of the few stores in Derry that catered to snow many needs. So a decent-sized crowd milled about. _For the ladies, all the perfumes and purses you could dream of! And why don’t ya get your strong man a nice watch, maybe a tie? _

Richie sighed, adjusted his headphones. He had grabbed a CD from his parent’s music collection and was listening to the musical styling’s of some ancient man singing carols, which was a sweet reprieve from his beloved Weird Al. Everyone needed a break sometimes. A break from Weird Al, a break from crazy Al. He wasn’t missing her just yet. Should he get her a Christmas gift?

He always felt out of place in these higher-end stores. It felt like everyone was watching him, getting ready to bust him for shoplifting as he browsed through the women’s section, fingering silk scarves he couldn’t afford without his parent’s money. Maybe he’d tell his mom he got a girlfriend, then she’d probably offer to help with a nice gift. They’d have a bonding moment. Mom would recognize that her son was funny, intelligent. She’d accept him as her own and take him in her arms, tell him that she loved him for who he was. Richie caught himself. In what world would that happen. He rolled his eyes to himself, distracting his train of thought with a price tag. There was a bump on his shoulder and Richie caught himself on the rack of clothes in front of him with a grunt.

‘Hey-‘ Richie started, a witty remark on the tip of his tongue about bulls in china stores or assholes not watching where they were fucking walking.

‘Richie Tozier?’ The offender asked.

Richie got a good look at the guy who had pushed him for the first time. Not the first time ever. The first time ever was when they met in the third grade. The kid with the inhaler, then the kid with the broken arm. The kid who would scream when Richie flung boogers at him. The kid who he shared a hammock with. The teenager who sat beside him in every class. The man who graduated alongside him before they both went away, forgot each other’s numbers and couldn’t bring themselves to write letters to each other before they soon forgot the other’s addresses.

The kid who fought alongside him.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Los Angeles?’ Eddie Kaspbrak asked with a teasing smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading again :) 
> 
> sorry if formatting is weird, idk how :(
> 
> anyway thank u again.. more eddie next chapter ;) 
> 
> lov u :)


	3. A Night Amongst The Stars

The brick walls of Derry High School were covered with aluminum foil stars and paper streamers in alternating blues and yellows. It was like someone had thrown confetti on top of a gnarly piece of shit, Richie thought. No amount of decoration could cover the smell of sweat and basketball rubber. Dark lighting didn’t distract Richie from memories of early morning gym classes and getting pelted in the face with dodge balls thrown by overgrown young adults with god complexes. No matter what you did, Derry was Derry and Derry was a piece of shit. Now it just had the confetti ontop.

‘This is kinda nice,’ Mike said. Richie looked at Mike. The two were sat together at a table that should have sat seven, Mike on Richie’s left. ‘It sure beats the homeschool prom.’

‘Because the homeschool prom is you and your grandpa slow-dancing cheek-to-cheek, of course _this_ seems nice.’ Richie slouched further into his seat, scanning the room.

‘My grand-dads a great dancer.’

‘Especially at 90 with his cane. I hope you two are very happy together. It’ll be a slow walk down the aisle.’

‘Beep-beep, Richie.’ Mike tutted.

‘Right, whatever.’ Richie rested his cheek on his hand. ‘What’s the point of all this if we're not getting laid?‘

‘The memories. Cheer up. You’re here with me.’ Mike’s dimples showed.

‘Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mikey.’ Richie took a sip from his cup and turned his head. Eddie still wasn’t here. ‘D’ya want a refill?’

‘I think I’m good-‘ Mike started before Richie snatched Mike’s cup and stood up.

‘My pleasure, I will be right back, hold tight, you are a star.’ Richie said in one breath before merging into the rest of the crowd.

All the kiddos had put their best foot forward and it was a sight to see. There was pimply Sue, in the bright purple- both her dress and her lipstick. Richie gave her a smile and she turned her back on him. Was he just that low on the food chain? He thought he looked okay. He had brushed his hair and put on a tux. He even wore contacts. What else was there to do (apart from drastic plastic surgery)? What really put the salt in the wound was that Eddie Kaspbrak- of all fucking people- has scored a date. And she was fucking cute! Like, a 6 out of 10 cute! Fucking Jenna. Jenna Powoski. And Richie Tozier, who was at least on the same level as Eddie, had nobody. Would he admit he was jealous? No. Was he gonna be in a mood all evening? Most definitely. Was he gonna get drunk to try and cope? You bet his sorry ass.

Richie took his and Hanlon’s cups and refilled them, watching the pink liquid spill and slop just like all the spit that was flowing between french kissing mouths on the dance floor. It was disgusting and Richie oh so desperately wanted to be one of those frenching mouths. It’s not like Richie didn’t score. He did. At summer camp in the tenth grade he had gotten his cherry popped by Sophia Abelman, and he had also gotten a poison ivy rash from the foliage they had copulated in. He’d also had a girlfriend for three weeks in the eleventh grade and they used each other to refine their techniques until Richie’s mom walked in on them mid-handjob and forced Richie to break up with her. When he went away on the senior trip to Montreal he had gotten frisky with a French-Canadian chick who was trying to make her boyfriend jealous (Richie still had a tiny bit of leftover black eye to show for it).

‘Are you gonna stand there all night, shithead?’ Said someone who was in the midst of peaking in high school.

‘No, I’m just waiting on your mother to join me.’ Richie took a sip of his refreshed punch through his straw.

‘Fucking....’ The jock wanted to say something, something that would hurt and embarrass the nerd in front of him. Make the other guy feel real small and tiny. Color Me Bad’s ‘I Wanna Sex You Up’ was playing at an ear-splitting volume. A teacher was eyeing them from the side of the gym. His date was waiting for him on the dance floor. He had better things to do. ‘Watch yourself, fuckface.’

‘Watch your tone or I’ll tell your mom to ground you,’ Richie called over the music as the guy stalked away, an arm already around his date. ‘I’ll be there to tuck you in tonight!’

Richie took another look at the crowd. He still couldn’t see Eddie or stupid fucking Jenna Powoski. He saw Mike alone at the table. Mike waved at Richie. Richie sighed. Yeah, Richie was an asshole. Mike didn’t know anybody here but him. They only had each other, and only for one more month. Graduation was in a week, then Richie was heading away to sunnier, golden coasts. The promise of sweet, pink peaches. For now, and what little time was remaining, it was Richie, Mike, and Eddie. And Eddie was off with _fucking Jenna_, which was the one thing at the top of Richie’s thoughts. It was selfish of Eddie to just leave him. Richie didn’t leave Eddie whenever there was a challenging Spanish test. In fact, Richie would give Eddie his notes and help him study until his eyes bled- _Andale, Eduardo_. _Your mom needs you home in bed by 10. _

He never left Eddie when that stupid Penny-ass motherfucker blew through town leaving a death count of at least 20. Even when that clown was the most terrifying thing he had ever come face to face with. He never left Eddie and he never would. You’d have to pry Eddie from his cold, dead arms. Richie realized his grip on his cup was tight, that his knuckles were growing white. He tried to push It to the back of his head. He didn’t need to feel his heartbeat skipping in his chest or those nasty cold-sweats and migraines tonight. Thinking about the past was never a good idea when the past was full of trauma. Mike was still smiling at him from the table. Mike waved, showing the scarred hand they all shared. Richie cringed before making his way back to his friend.

‘Eddies still not here.’ Richie announced as he sat down. Dancing at prom was lame. He slid Mike the refilled drink.

‘He’s probably just enjoying his time with Jenna. She’s pretty sweet.’ Mike said.

Richie rolled his eyes, patting his coat jacket for his flask. He pulled it out, shiny and silver. It wasn’t his flask, technically. He took it from his dad who hadn’t yet noticed it missing. Richie tilted it towards Mike as an offer and Mike shook his head.

‘You’re a good kid,’ Richie teased, taking his own cup below the table and mixing the liquids. ‘But Jenna fucking sucks. She’s a bitch. Eddie can do way better.’

‘Relax, Richie. Eddie just wants to have a good time.’

‘He can have a good time with us.’ Richie chugged his drink.

‘Not in the same way.’

_ Why not_, Richie thought.

‘Can I take your drink?’ Richie asked. Mike nodded. Richie took Mike’s drink and mixed it with the flask’s contents underneath the table again.

‘I’m just saying, Mike. He’s gonna forget us. Just like Bev, Ben, Bill, Stan. They all did,’ Richie took a sip of his concoction, this time actually getting a taste. He grimaced. ‘Eddie is gonna be no different. He’s already forgetting!’

‘Hey, you’re going away too, Richie.’ Mike said, looking down at clasped hands. ‘It’s just gonna be me here.’

Richie frowned. ‘I’m gonna write you, dude. I’m gonna call.’

Mike looked up. Every time a Loser went away, letters and phone calls were promised. But they always stopped. It would be slow, at first. Maybe a letter every two months. Then it would become a letter every six months. And then no letters. No more of Bev’s insights from her aunt’s place in Ohio. Ben didn’t send any of his haikus or music recommendations from his new place in Seattle. Bill no longer sent his family travel pictures, no more doodles to look at in the sidebar of his letters. Stan’s bird photos and field notes had stopped and even though they were geeky as shit, they were sorely missed. Mike knew what would happen.

'Good, Richie. It’ll be lonely here.’ Mike said, nonetheless.

Richie gave Mike a punch in the arm, finishing off his drink. Richie reached for his flask again. Richie didn’t like how he was feeling tonight- depressed and jealous. He had to get rid of that or at least get drunk enough to try and have some fun tonight.

‘Pace yourself, bud. We got awhile more to go.’ Mike said.

‘Geez, dad. Didn’t know you cared so much.’ But Richie obliged, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. ‘I just don’t get it! Why didn’t he just come stag with us?’

‘He sees you every day in class and the both of us every other day after school. Give him a break.’

'No. I don’t wanna.’ Richie crossed his arms like a toddler and stuck his bottom lip out.

‘Look, over there.’ Mike tapped Richie’s shoulder to get him looking. Richie swung his head and followed Mike’s gaze. ‘Your prince charming has arrived. Grow up now, please.’

Endless Love (feat. Mariah Carey) started playing throughout the gymnasium as Eddie Kaspbrak entered through the double doors. His hair was gelled and handsome, just like everything else. Just handsome all over, looking quite tight in that suit. The jacket was white and the pants were black and Richie didn’t know any other way to describe suits but he did know that Eddie looked handsome. Had he said that already?

Mike watched Richie stare and pretended he didn’t know what was obvious.

Eddie bowed a little as he held the door open for Jenna, bashful and incredibly polite. Richie wanted to gag. He saw the corsage on Jenna’s wrist, made of dainty white flowers. No doubt Eddie had bought it for her. He had probably spent all day worrying over if she would like it or not- or if it would get his allergies acting up and he would sneeze all over her when they were slow dancing, or god forbid, sneezing on her while smooching.

‘It’s disgusting, Mike. It’s a straight-up betrayal.’ Richie hissed.

‘Cry me a river, build a bridge, get over it, because they’re coming over here.’ Mike said with his never-ending patience and goodwill. He had gotten used to Richie’s dramatics and was unaffected.

Eddie and Jenna made their way through the crowd, arms linked. Jenna smiled at Eddie and Eddie smiled back. Richie frowned. Jenna was pretty and blonde, drowning in glittery green fabric. Eddie caught Richie’s eye from across the room and beamed. Richie gave Eddie a slight salute with his cup, feeling his cheeks heating up.

‘Your tux looks fucking gay, Ed.’ Richie said as soon as Eddie was within earshot.

‘Hey, fuck you-‘ Eddie felt a squeeze on his arm from Jenna. Jenna didn’t like swearing ‘Shut up. It’s not gay.’

Richie laughed.

‘You guys look great.’ Jenna said to Mike and Richie. Mike said thank you, Richie rolled his eyes. Eddie glared at him. It was so easy to piss the little guy off.

‘You look beautiful, Jenna.’ Mike returned.

Jenna blushed.

‘Sit, please. Welcome to ze table.’ Richie mumbled in a half-assed French accent, already feeling his tongue getting heavy and tangled from alcohol, but he knew this was one of the voices Eddie liked. ‘Zer is caviar an’ vwine for yer peruzal.’

‘Merci beaucoup!’ Jenna giggled. Eddie had absolutely no response to Richie’s joke and pulled out Jenna’s seat for her. Jenna sat down, manhandling the poofs of fabric so that she could sit without tearing anything. Once she had settled Eddie sat down next to her. Jenna looked over at Eddie, still pink and girly in the cheeks.

‘Did we miss anything?’ Eddie asked as he quickly observed the table for anything infected or egregiously dirty. He was trying his hardest to keep a lid on the whole hypochondriac thing. Jenna watched her date with a bit of concern.

‘Just the same top 40 drivel that’s always on the fuckin’ radio, _man_,’ Richie said waving his hand dismissively. Richie, who had been waiting for Eddie’s arrival for the past thirty minutes, was now looking everywhere but Eddie.

‘Are you in one of your moods?’ Eddie asked, testing the waters. Richie had been especially pissy at him for the past three weeks. Three weeks ago, Eddie had secured his prom date and Richie had been alternating hot-cold ever since. Mike, who had noticed all of this behaviour, raised his eyebrows and tried to hide the smile that comes from knowing everything.

‘I’m just upset because I’m getting no fucking pussy tonight, Eddie, which is insane because I’m, like, hot shit, and it doesn’t make any sense, _bro_.’ Richie tried to take a sip from his glass. It was empty. Jenna was wide-eyed at Richie’s language from across the table.

‘That’s where Stan should be sitting.’ Richie said a little louder than he would have liked.

‘Stan?’ Jenna asked. Clueless bitch. Richie looked at Eddie, who has equally as aghast as Jenna. Eddie started to say something, but Richie cut him off.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Richie responded, pushing himself up from the table. ‘I have to piss.’

As Richie walked away he heard Jenna ask ‘is he always like that?’. Mike said no, that Richie was just upset. Like Mike knew the half of it. Derry was fucking suffocating, especially with Eddie here and less and less Losers to distract him from what Richie didn’t want to know. He did know. He just was trying his hardest to not know, to reason his way out of it. You can’t be gay if you like girls. You can’t be in love with your best friend, he’s your best friend, and he’s not into you. He’s not gay. Neither are you. Deal with it. Richie would repeat that over and over again but it never sounded like less of a lie.

Richie crossed the dance floor, people swarming around him. This entire fucking town was affected by It but nobody else showed it. Everybody but the Losers just seemed to forget about it as soon as the Bower’s trial closed. Richie couldn’t forget. He couldn’t forget all the missing faces. He couldn’t forget the way he and his friends almost died a handful of different ways and a handful of different times before they finally put that thing back where it came from. Even with It gone, there were still assholes in the world. Assholes who didn’t care about the rest of the dead and missing kids. The feelings stayed too, no matter how hard Richie tried. There were still the feelings that made him feel like he was dirty. None of that went away. Everybody else stopped seeing monsters. The Losers would talk about how things were getting easier. Fewer nightmares. No more ladies with hacksaw teeth in paintings or lepers with slimy tongues hiding around street corners. No, because now Richie was the leper. The infected.

He’d always agree and say the same thing, that _yeah, there were no more bad dreams and he slept like a baby. _Lying to his friends never got easier.

Richie’s nightmares kept going because nightmares were his everyday life. Never look at another guy too long- don’t touch unless you’re fist-bumping or doing something equally masculine. Never let anyone know about the Calvin Klein men’s underwear ads he hid under his mattress. Keep your eyes down in the change-rooms or else they’re gonna know- they’re all gonna take one look at you and know you’re different. That you’re sick. And then they’ll all hate you. Richie knew what happened to gay people in Derry. It put a target on your back that said ‘beat me, spit on me’. Richie already had a target just from being who he was, a bespectacled nerd who was more into stand up comedy than football. He didn’t need another one.

A girl in a fluffy pink dressed grabbed his waist and Richie found his hands on her shoulders. That whining Mariah Carey has switched into The Cranberries, which was a good amount better (but still a good amount whiney). ‘Linger’. Richie knew this one. He swung her to the chorus of the song for a few beats before pulling away and getting trying to get back on track, get out of the gym. The girl laughed and pulled him back in. Richie found himself smiling and took her into a low dip. She laughed even harder. Richie pulled her back up and did that little Cinderella move, spinning her. Now it was his turn to disappear at midnight. Get out of the stupid gym, away from stupid Eddie Kaspbrak and his stupider date. Richie kissed the girl on the forehead and broke apart. She waved goodbye. He pushed his way out of the gym through a side door.

A pumpkin carriage was not there waiting for him and he had no glass slipper to leave behind. The hallways were weird at night, devoid of students and teachers running this way and that. The lights that were usually headache-inducing fluorescent were either dim or off, which wasn’t helping the creep factor. Richie took a deep breath and looked back at the gym before looking back in front of him.

‘It’s just a hallway, man,’ Richie said under his breath. ‘Get over it.’ He didn’t actually have to pee. He just wanted to go to his locker and refill the flask and go have a smoke, nicotine or otherwise.

‘Don’t be a pussy.’ He said to himself.

The dim hallway looked like the hallways that ran through Neibolt house, dusty and bruised. It wasn’t Neibolt house. It was just a dark hallway. 

_ Move, fuckhead. Don’t be a coward. _

Richie took a wobbly step. Then another slightly less wobbly step. Someone cleared their throat in front of him.

‘Tozier. You doing okay?’ Coach Gray asked. He wasn’t wearing his usual track suit and Richie had to hold back a giggle. An overweight, balding gym coach with a tie that ended at his nipples. Hilarious.

‘Yeah, yeah! Good!’ Richie knew his words sounded sloppy, but hopefully the music emanating from the gymnasium was loud enough to cover his sorry ass.

Coach looked him up and down.

Richie watched him, crossing his fingers that Coach was either very stupid or one of the cool adults- of which there were very few in Derry. Richie looked up at the ceiling, rolling back and forth on his heels as the coach examined him. _No alcohol at prom, kiddos. No fornicating in the stalls. No pregnancies that result in shitty shotgun marriages you stay in for the rest of your life, miserable and having never left your hometown. _Coach looked Richie up and down.

‘Get back in there soon. You’ll miss the whole prom.’ Coach said.

‘Save me a dance, Coach.’ Richie said, still staring up at the ceiling.

‘Cut the fruity shit, kid,’ Coach said. ‘That’s why the other boys give you such a problem.’

Richie would have said something cool and witty, like ‘fuck you, anus breath’ but he also wanted to graduate this year. Richie inhaled. ‘Yes, Coach.’

Richie half expected Coach to blow a whistle at him and order him to do a lap, but Coach just nodded and made his own way into the gym. There was a loud flash of music before the door shut and muffled the sounds again. Just Richie and the hallway. Richie looked down it.

There are no more monsters, he reminded himself. Just walk.

The music faded, the echo of songs radiating down the halls as Richie got further and further away from the gym. He could feel his heart rate pumping. It didn’t matter that there were no more monsters running afuck. Richie’s brain didn’t care. Every creak or sound was a threat and he hated how jumpy he got on the worse nights. He really needed a smoke.

His locker had a photo booth picture of all the Losers in it taped on the side. Bev and Ben were blushing and squished up against each other. Stan was making the face he always made, an old man at the ripe old age of 13. Bill was sticking out a raspberry at Mike, who was smiling from cheek to cheek. Richie and Eddie were squished into a corner. It looked like they were sharing a secret. Richie smiled at it before flipping off Eddie’s face, who was a traitor and an asshole. He immediately felt bad and patted the little Eddie’s head before grabbing his pack of emergency cigarettes and locking back up. 

He knew he hadn’t been great to Eddie this year, but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t be alone with him for more than ten minutes without saying something stupid or getting too close. It was like walking a tightrope. Richie had really shit balance. Stupid Eddie. No, not stupid Eddie. Eddie was clueless Eddie. Richie was the little fairy who- Richie shut his eyes right. Shut up, brain. Please.

_ Can’t run from your thoughts, idiot. _

Yes I can, Richie responded as he took another swig from his flask.

His inner monologue quieted as he stepped out of the school building. The doors shut behind him with a slam and he couldn’t help but jump. He sighed. Was he really that damaged?

Richie’s fingers got to work, peeling a cigarette out of the red and white box. Bev’s favourite brand. His lighter flicked on and Richie was able to take an easy inhale. He could still hear the echoes of music from where he plopped down on the bleachers. He never noticed his foot was bouncing until it stopped. If Bev was here it’d be easier. She always knew what to say when he was feeling down on himself- she could see right through Richie to his bones. Even if she couldn’t think of the right thing to say, she’d sit with him and just _be_. Sometimes that was all you really needed. Richie let the smoke out of his mouth.

He sat through ‘What is Love’ and into ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’, the UB40 version, before he saw Eddie walking across the field towards him. Richie watched Eddie get closer and closer and he could feel his heart pounding a little faster and faster.

‘Are you gonna spend prom out here by yourself?’ Eddie asked once he sat himself down next to Richie.

‘You’re here now. I’m not alone.’ Richie said.

‘That’s real fuckin’ cheesey, Rich.’

Richie gave a tight smile. His cigarette was at its end and he snuffed its life on the seat of the metal bleachers.

‘Where’s Jenna?’ Richie asked.

‘She and Mike are getting along pretty swell,’ Eddie said, slouching forward and putting his elbows to his knees. ‘I think he’s gonna steal my date.’

‘Sucks, huh?’

‘Dunno. She’s kinda..’ Eddie trailed off, trying to think of the right word. He couldn’t find it. ‘I don’t know. Whatever. Her boobs are small.’

‘Huh.’ Richie nodded.

‘Fuck off.’

‘You first.’

‘Fuck off as in leave or fuck off as in… y’know?’ Eddie mimed masturbating with his hand. Richie watched Eddie, mouth feeling a little dry.

‘Your call.’ Richie said.

‘Well… I’m not leaving,’ Eddie announced. To show his newfound will to stay, he leaned back on the bleachers. Richie leaned back as well. Their elbows touched. Richie looked to see and met Eddie’s eye, and of course, Eddie looked gorgeous in the moonlight. He always looked amazing to Richie. It wasn't just his looks, though. He was a spitfire with a heart of gold. He was brave and strong. Much stronger than Richie. 

‘At least not until I have to go to NYU.’ Eddie continued, his voice coming to a hush.

‘I’m gonna miss you. So much.’ Richie said, his voice breaking a little bit. Eddie couldn’t stand that sound and he wrapped his arm around Richie, pulling him in tighter.

‘How drunk are you?’ Eddie asked softly. Richie buried his head into Eddie’s chest.

‘I dunno.’ He mumbled, grabbing a handful of Eddie’s tux. It smelt like the rental store, but underneath the tux, Eddie smelt the same way as always- Vick’s VapoRub and clean sheets. Richie could breathe him in for hours. Richie felt Eddie pet his head and he closed his eyes, leaning into him.

‘I love you.’ Richie spoke into Eddie’s chest.

‘I love you too, dude.’ Eddie responded, but that wasn’t the response Richie wanted to hear. Not ‘dude’. He wanted… fucking fuck, he wanted to be with Eddie. Richie pulled off Eddie and put his hands through his hair.

‘No, Eddie, man,’ Richie stumbled through his words. ‘Just… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole.’

‘It’s all good, Richie.’ Eddie replied, patting Richie on the back.

‘It’s not. I was jealous. Of you and Jenna.’

‘If you wanted a date you could have gotten one. You always put yourself in a box, man. Any girl would be lucky to have you.’ Eddie said. He went to have Richie under his arm again, but Richie scooted away. He didn’t want any girl.

‘Please. Stop.’ Richie’s voice sounded tiny.

‘Are you doing okay?’ Eddie asked, obviously concerned.

Richie thought for a second. He rubbed his face with his hand, trying to figure out the best course of action. Lie, and have nothing change. Tell the truth and risk losing Eddie and any social life he had left. He couldn’t keep going on like this and he was so so tired of overthinking every single thing and nobody could see them right now and hey if he just did something he’d have done it, and then all this thinking and obsessing that was driving him insane would be over, so- Richie leaned over and kissed Eddie.

He kinda missed, only half of his mouth landing on Eddie’s. Richie held his lips there for two seconds before pulling back to see what Eddie would do.

Eddie was still as stone.

From the gym, a Boyz II Men song started playing. ‘In The Still of The Nite’ played out for all the couples in the gym. Boy met girl for slow dance, hand in hand and hand on hip. Foil stars twinkled above their heads as they swirled around each other, in love for this moment as the lighting turned a dreamy blue and heads leaned on shoulders.

Sitting on the bleachers the song was a faint whisper, barely heard over chirping crickets and cars passing by on a road a far way away. The night stars shone above, sending their blessing down on all of Derry. Richie breathed uneasily, waiting for Eddie to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again thank u for reading :) hope u liked! :) hope the reddie hype don't die out bcuz i love trying to write a stephen king knock off and richie is just one of my fav cahracters also did any1 catch the carrie reference in the chapter title hehehe :)


	4. Winter Wonderland

The sales team of Freese's Department store ran around, restocking items and assisting women who would be there for hours, perusing every single item until they found the perfect, overpriced soap dish for someone who had no use for it. Eddie was here to find a gift for his mom. He didn’t have much cash to spend, but Eddie wanted to find something nice. He did love his mother, even after everything- y’know, forcing pills down his throat and keeping him locked away from all his friends. So, maybe a nice pair of slippers? He was a good son, after all.

Then there was the unexpected- sun-kissed Richie Tozier, here. In front of Eddie. And yes, Eddie had accidentally barreled into him but now Richie was standing like a dumbass, just blinking at him. The same Richie Tozier that he had gone to middle school with, who he had defeated the monster with, with the same stupid look on his glasses ridden face. Eddie was excited to see him again.

He raised his eyebrows in annoyance.

‘This is ground control to Major Fuck-head.’ Eddie said, his voice rising in both volume and speed, the way it tended to go around Richie. He clapped his hands in front of Richie’s face who shook his head like he was out of a Warner Brother’s cartoon. ‘Anybody home?’

‘Shit, sorry.’ Richie said, still looking glazed over. Richie looked left and right before meeting Eddie’s eye. Eddie looked him up and down. Richie had filled out a bit, but it was Richie and the last time Eddie had checked Richie was a fast thinker. So why was he being an idiot? Then it clicked-

‘Are you stoned?’ Eddie tried to whisper but a customer a few racks down looked over at the two boys with a barely restrained glare.

‘No-no, just…’ Richie started to say, ever so slowly.

‘You’re totally high, dude. Don’t deny it.’ Eddie shot off, holding back a laugh. Whenever Eddie found himself near Richie, it’s like he switched into annoying asshole mode (as opposed to his slightly less annoying asshole mode), trying to match Richie’s pace. Richie, however, was being a stick in the mud and Eddie felt himself growing even more obnoxious to make up for Richie’s lack of obnoxious. He was sure that there was some law in science that dictated that everything had to be balanced. Ying Yang and whatever.

‘What the fuck? No. When- where-‘ Richie stammered.

Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Wuh-wuh-what? You sound like Bill.’

‘You wanna get- can we go out of here?’ Richie blurted out, completely forgetting to respond to Eddie’s insult.

‘Wow, you’re a pussy now.’ Eddie said, barely concealing the bite in his voice and completely ignoring how Richie’s eyes were darting around in every direction, how Richie’s chest was heaving up and down.

‘Shut the fuck up- what are you even talking about?’ Richie shot back in defence, voice quickening to match Eddie’s.

‘I remember when you threw a rock at Henry Bowers and now you can’t even ask me to hang out without sounding like a wimp.’ Eddie crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. Eddie was teasing, relentlessly. He knew that nobody ever got the one-up on Richie, so he might as well capitalize on this moment of weakness. Eddie was bored out of his mind in Derry- _c’mon Richie, give me a challenge_.

‘I- what?’ Richie stuck his hands in his hair. ‘I threw a rock at the child murderer?’

Was Richie fucking with him? If so, that’s a fucked up joke to forget about the clown. It wouldn’t be the most fucked up joke Richie had played on him- like when Richie had made the entire class think Eddie had pissed his pants in high school, or when Richie had somehow set up a blind date between him and the nasty girl from the drugstore, or prom night, which still hurt to think about.

‘I think… I think I’m gonna faint?’ Richie proposed, struggling to push the words out.

‘What?’ Eddie scoffed.

‘I’m gonna pass out Eds.’

Eddie realized that yes, Richie was about to pass out. He stood dumb for a second before switching gears into Dr. Kaspbrak mode. He was overqualified- he had spent most of his childhood in a hospital and had worked his way up to a doctorate just by diagnosing and treating himself with every product the drug store had to offer. Penicillin, insulin, a brief moment of Zoloft. Eddie knew it all.

Richie’s footing wavered and Eddie moved to catch him. Richie, however, violently pulled back from Eddie, bumping into the rack behind him. It fell over with a loud metallic crash. Richie looked at the fallen coats and scarves, then looked back to Eddie with wide eyes before bolting.

‘What the fuck?’ Eddie asked nobody in particular before bending down and picking the rack back up. It did little to fix the mess Richie had left on the floor. Eddie hung a single coat back on the rack after making eye contact with an overworked salesman. Eddie gave a small wave of apology before following after Richie, who was probably stoned out of his mind and seeing eagles and shit. Eddie speed-walked past crystal bowls and overpriced train sets, not wanting to cause more of a scene than what had already happened. People talked. Especially about how sad he and his sick mother were. _‘Oh, that poor Kaspbrak boy. First, it was him, now his mother. His fathers already passed, you know?’ _They’d say, voices reeking of pity he didn’t need or want. If the town got wind of him and his friend freaking out in a department store he was sure he’d never hear the end of it.

Richie had been stopped by Maggie Tozier, who was sternly explaining something to him as Eddie walked up. Richie was trying to interject, but she spoke through his interruptions.

‘You can’t just go, Richard. You have to pick a gift for Nana.’ Eddie overheard Maggie saying. Maggie was objectively pretty. She had soft hair and dressed well but Eddie had heard ‘Maggie Tozier’s Worst Hits of All Time’, as transcribed by Richie. Every offence committed had been retold and broadcasted by Richie in his radio announcer voice, Eddie getting the play by play of how she had grounded Richie for failing to fold his laundry or the one time he had gotten in a _teeny_-_tiny_ fender-bender, which was in _no_ way Richie’s fault, Richie had said.

‘Hey, Mrs. Tozier,’ Eddie greeted. Mrs. T kinda wore a perfume that always got Eddie’s allergies going. It smelt like a flower shop had exploded and they had bottled the smouldering remains. Eddie sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. Gross. He took his hand sanitizer bottle from out of his pocket, took off his gloves, and squeezed out a healthy dollop. He massaged it into his hands before re-gloving and returning the bottle to his pocket.

‘Eddie, sweetie. You boys going off together?’ Mrs. Tozier said, watching Eddie’s little routine with a raised brow.

Eddie looked to Richie. Richie looked to Eddie.

‘Yes.’ Richie said. Maggie gave Richie a look for talking out of turn and turned to Eddie, who she had been originally speaking too.

‘Yup.’ Eddie agreed.

‘That’s so great, boys.’ Mrs. T said, not meaning it one bit. She tilted her head as she spoke, moving like a possessed doll. Eddie got the chills.

‘Yeah, mom.’ Richie mumbled, shoving his hands into his sweater’s pocket. Richie was tapping his foot- was he not wearing winter boots? Is he seriously wearing sneakers in the snow?

‘Just be here in an hour to pick me up, alright dear?’ Mrs. Tozier commanded.

Richie nodded.

Eddie had to stifle a small laugh at the exchange between mother and son. It was funny how whipped his friend was, but then Eddie remembered that he wasn’t much better with his mother. Eddie noticed Richie was already walking off. _Stay still for one goddamn second, Rich. _

‘See you at church, Mrs. Tozier.’ Eddie said with a small wave which Mrs. Tozier curtly returned before going back to examining a pair of blue wool socks. The smell of her perfume lessened as Eddie moved to follow Richie, who was already at the elevators. Richie was standing in one spot, but bouncing up and down nervously.

‘Hey, Richie, nice going assh-‘ Eddie started as he caught up to the Trashmouth. Richie’s face was pale.

‘The clown.’ Richie said, staring dead straight ahead.

‘Pennywise.’ Eddie confirmed, voice quiet. The elevator door opened and Richie ducked into the elevator. Eddie followed. When the doors closed with a ding, Richie sunk onto the floor, putting his head in his hands. Eddie didn’t follow Richie down. God knows what’s been on that floor.

‘What the fuck?’ Richie was nearly hyperventilating. ‘What the fuck? _What the fuck_?’ Every time he swore his voice was visibly more distressed and that was making Eddie visibly more worried. Eddie got it- thinking about their past was distressing. Duh. An inter-dimensional being committed a small genocide during what should have been their summer break. He squatted down next to Richie, careful that only his shoes were touching the ground, and placed a hand on his back, gently patting. Richie just stuck his face between his knees, breathing heavy and mumbling curse words and questions Eddie couldn’t hear.

‘If you’re hyperventilating,’ Eddie said. He hoped his words came off with a comforting tone, but he tended to talk way too quickly and with an edge of aggression he didn’t know he had. ‘Just breathe.’

‘No fuckin’ shit,’ Richie huffed out through uneven breathes, made even more uneven by him trying to laugh. Richie started coughing up a lung. Eddie pulled back slightly, trying to avoid any fluids Richie might be spewing. It was flu season. Eddie felt the urge to grab the bottle of hand sanitizer from his pant’s pocket, his hand flying to the imprint of the bottle, but he withheld. The elevator dinged again pulling Eddie from that particular train of germaphobic thought. Eddie got himself up and looked down at Richie, a mess of curly hair and insanity on the floor. Dr. Kaspbrak knew he had to get this kid moving, get him into some fresh winter air.

‘Get up, trash mouth.’ Eddie commanded, sticking his booted toe into Richie’s flank. Eddie’s bedside manner needed work- but if Richie could laugh, he could get himself up off the dirty floor. ‘C’mon Richie.’

‘I forgot.’ Richie said quietly (an oxymoron). Eddie started to ask a question before Richie spoke again, clearly not satisfied with his words. ‘I forgot about… It.’ He restated, his face twisting in pain.

Richie wasn’t a good enough actor to be fucking with him like this, Eddie thought. Everything was clicking and Eddie was taken aback.

‘How? How.. do you forget that?’ Eddie asked, softening slightly.

‘I don’t know.’

There was a silence between them, the only sound being the whirring gears of the elevator and the sound of Christmas carols playing off a tinny speaker. Eddie didn’t know what to think. You don’t forget what happened. You lived with it and it got easier to deal with, but you don’t forget.

_Sleighbells ring, are ya listening? _

Richie stood up, supporting himself on the hand-bars of the elevator. Eddie watched as the other boy rested his head against the elevator wall. Richie said something Eddie didn’t hear. Fuckin’ Bing Crosby’s sweet Christmas stylings took over his eardrums.

‘What?’ Eddie asked.

‘I forgot about you.’ Richie repeated, his voice gritted.

_Walkin’ in a winter wonderland… _

The elevator doors opened. Richie lifted his head and looked at Eddie, bleary-eyed. Eddie felt his heart catch at the sight of Richie looking so broken and pulled Richie into a tight hug. Richie was a few inches taller than him which was ridiculously annoying. Eddie put himself on slight tip-toes so that he could fit his face into the crook of Richie’s neck. Richie’s breathing started evening out. Eddie closed his eyes, lost in the familiar and welcome comfort of Richie Tozier. It had been a long time.

_To face unafraid, the plans that we’ve made- walkin’ in a winter wonderland… _

‘I also forgot,’ Richie said with a bit of a sniffle, voice deep in Eddie’s ear. Eddie internally reprimanded the feeling he got below his stomach. ‘I fucked your mom.’

Eddie shoved Richie off and landed a punch on Richie’s upper arm. Bing Crosby finished his final note and some equally cheesy Christmas song started. Richie chuckled a little bit and wiped his face with his sleeve before following Eddie out of the elevator.

The two found themselves outside of the department store and in downtown Derry, all dressed up in tinsel and fairy lights, snow paved streets which that weren’t all too much of an actual downtown. Richie welcomed the cold air. Eddie remembered his brief stay in New York. Everywhere was downtown. He had loved it. His mom had complained and complained about New York, about how dirty it would be. How disease-ridden it was. _Eddie-bear, you know, you’ll catch something, the AIDS. It’s all over, in taxis- on subway poles. Please stay here! Eddie!_

Eddie had been there a month and a half and it had been amazing, despite his mother’s many objections. He hadn’t caught ‘the AIDS’, not even a common cold. It was dirty, sure, but there were so many types of people, all from different walks of life with different interests, different tastes. Eddie loved his finance studies and was in the process of trying out for the track team because somehow the grungy New York City air was doing absolute wonders for his asthma. He felt liberated- from Derry, from his mother. From endless prescriptions. He still took all his vitamins, though.

He remembered coming back to his dorm room after being out with some friends from class, he was exhausted in a good way. The new friends weren’t the Losers, but they were kind and intelligent. He didn’t laugh the way he did with Richie, but that’s just because nobody made him laugh like Richie did. As he was signing in for the night, the volunteer at the desk told him that there had been a call for him. It was his mom, she had said, and she said it was urgent. Make sure you call her back.

‘Mommy?’ Eddie said as soon as his mother picked up the phone. ‘Mommy, are you okay?’ He had been walking around his dorm, pacing and trying not to get tangled up in the phone’s cord.

‘I’m in the hospital, Eddie-bear. I’m sick. You need to come home.’ Sonia said. She coughed.

‘What? What happened?’ He asked, feeling his heart rate spiking in a way it hadn’t for a long, long time. Was she okay? Was she going to die- was it contagious?

‘The doctors say I only have five months, Eddie-bear. You need to come home.’

Eddie was a good son and good sons come home. He had been home ever since. Five months turned into ten. Ten months became a year. Eddie told NYU he wouldn’t be returning and picked up a job, taking coffee orders and answering phones as an office secretary by day and became his mother’s personal care worker by night, or whenever she needed him home (which was usually 7 at the latest every night). One year became two and Sonia Kaspbrak still hadn’t passed away, nor gotten any better. There were good days and bad days. A lot of days where Eddie resented her. Eddie thought she might be faking it to keep him in town, only one bedroom away, but he was a good son, and good sons don’t doubt their mother’s illness.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t write you.’ Richie said as the two walked the snowy streets. ‘I don’t know, it’s just, like, school happened. Things got busy. And then one day I couldn’t remember any of the Losers. I missed you guys, though.’

‘How can you miss someone you don’t remember?’ Eddie asked.

Richie shrugged. Snow fell into his curly hair. Richie looked cold with only his stupid ‘Back to The Future’ hoodie keeping him warm. Eddie remembered when Richie wore that sweater for two months straight after the movie came out, doing shitty impressions of The Doc all the while. Shitty impressions were not a good enough reason to condemn someone to frostbite. Eddie took the scarf from around his neck and draped it around Richie’s, hoping to warm him up a bit. Richie’s cheeks became the same deep red as the scarf.

‘You can have my gloves too if you want.’ Eddie said, feeling slightly shy.

‘What am I, your charity case?’ Richie joked, faking offence.

‘Please, dude. You’re like a thousand times richer than me.’ Which was kinda the truth. With only Sonia to support the family as a part-time launderer, they barely scraped by through Eddie’s childhood. She had a widower’s pension, but it all went into the various medicines and treatments Eddie ‘needed’. Eddie always wondered what it would be like to have Richie’s kind of money- to have a three-storey house and to get a shiny car on your 16th birthday. All Eddie got was his inhaler’s prescription refilled and a half-hour later curfew, 8’ o clock turning into 8 thirty. He was grateful, trust him, but Ben had gotten a trip to London and Stan had gotten a cell phone.

‘It’s not polite to talk about money, Eddie Spaghetti.’ Richie retorted, going into a loose impression of his mother, nailing the way she held her hands- a little bit like a t-rex. Eddie snorted.

‘She’s scary, man.’ Eddie said. He watched his feet walk. 

‘Yeah, and I get to live with her.’ Richie responded. ‘Dude, she gave birth to me- it was terrifying.’

It was always hard to talk about terror after ’89. Nothing could measure up.

‘How’s school?’ Eddie changed the subject.

‘Aw, great. Great. Parties and papers. I have a 4.0.’ Richie bragged, leaning into Eddie. Eddie grinned before gently bumping him away. ‘I met a great girl too.’

Eddie’s grin evaporated. ‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. Alexis. She’s the tits.’ Richie smiled. ‘A real wacko, but great.’

‘Good for you, dude.’ Eddie couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice.

‘What, you’re still single?’ Richie teased. ‘No Derry poon is good enough for Eds?’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Eddie didn’t have any poon. He had never even had a girlfriend. In all honesty, his last date was the prom. Jenna... Polsomething. His one chance to find love would have been college, but that was cut short. Now all he did was work in an office with people who were double his age and take care of his mother- not much opportunity for going out with the ladies, not that he was even interested in any of them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a crush and he was starting to think something was wrong with him. He hated being 20 and a virgin. It felt like everyone else was out, making the most of their young years as Eddie fell behind.

‘No woman, no cry.’ Richie went Rastafarian, doing an awful impression of Bob Marley that was offensive on several different levels. Richie briefly cringed at the sound of his voice before returning to normal. ‘Life is easier without them, believe me, Eds.’

‘I said don’t call me Eds.’ Eddie was getting annoyed.

‘You said don’t call me ‘that’, not Eds, Eds,’ Richie had a stupid grin on his fuckin’ face.

‘I will actually beat you up.’ They were 13 again. Richie was still the gangly Richie Tozier from Derry Elementary. Despite Eddie’s best efforts, was still the hypochondriac with the broken arm who sat next to Richie from Derry Elementary in every class, bare knees touching under desks and lunch breaks spent teasing each other relentlessly. Eddie remembered the hammock in the clubhouse, the way they’d sit there for hours in the golden afternoon light, legs entangled- just being kids. Eddie found himself smiling again, and Richie, despite the panic attack that had happened ten minutes ago, was smiling too.

‘You know you’re still my best friend, right?’ Richie said. ‘Even if I didn’t, y’know, remember you- it was always you.’

‘Aw, dude. That’s gay.’ Eddie replied, still smiling like an idiot as he looked down at his boots. Richie reached over and ruffled Eddie’s hair and Eddie responded by shouting fuck you and pushing him into a snowbank. Richie stuck out his foot to trip Eddie, who fell right on top of Richie his hand landing square on Richie’s chest and knocking the breath out of him. Eddie looked down at Richie’s face, holding himself up. Richie looked at Eddie, still as red as Eddie’s scarf around his neck. They stayed like that for a second before Eddie’s brains started working again.

‘Ohmygod, you’re gonna get frostbite. Get up.’ Eddie pushed himself off Richie, pulling the other boy up. Richie was chuckling as Eddie brushed the loose snow off Richie’s sweater- what kind of idiot only wears a sweater outside in December? This idiot. His fuckin’ idiot.

‘Relax, it’s just snow.’ Richie said, helping to brush the snow off with his bare hands. ‘I’m not even cold.’

‘Not even cold?! That’s a symptom of fucking hypothermia, stupid.’ Eddie peeled off one of his gloves, hastily shoving it in his pocket before lifting Richie’s sleeve and checking his pulse. Richie just watched him, amused.

‘You can’t tell you’re cold, you get confused,’ Eddie found Richie’s pulse. It was beating, strong. Maybe a little bit fast. ‘Usually, your pulse slows down.’

‘I told you- I’m fine.’ Richie said, continuing to entertain Eddie by letting him finger his pulse. Eddie kept track of the beats, counting in his head.

‘Alright, okay, maybe. Fine.’ Eddie admitted. ‘But if you stay in that hoodie you’re gonna get it, for sure.’

‘Yeah, sure, lemme just-‘ Richie started to take the hoodie off. Eddie saw a small glimpse of Richie’s lower stomach. It was tanned like the rest of him, a huge contrast to Eddie’s milk-white complexion. Part of Eddie wanted to see how far that tan went, but he pulled Richie’s arms down. The hoodie went back on accordingly. He didn’t want Richie getting sick. He knew Richie was fucking with him on some level, Richie wasn’t that dumb, but Eddie was still annoyed by the antics.

‘Idiot.’ Eddie said.

Richie stuck his tongue out at Eddie as he shivered. The banter paused for a second, the two standing across from each other.

‘You wanna come over tonight?’ Richie asked, looking down at his feet.

‘To your place? With your mom?’ Eddie wanted to confirm. Even back in the day, the Losers rarely went over to Richie’s house. His parents were pretty strict about noise levels and keeping the place intact. One-time Bill had tried to open a window and he broke the protective screen. Richie’s mom had come into the living room and started screaming. Bill stuttered through his apology and Maggie yelled louder, chastising the boy for not being able to speak properly. Bill nearly cried. Once they were all kicked out of the Tozier house, Richie cracked a joke about her being on her period. It did little to lighten the mood. Eddie had to come over to study once or twice since then, but they were always on tiptoes.

‘We can go to your place if you want.’ Richie supplied, not wanting to miss out on being with his friend.

‘My place? _With my mom_?’ Eddie stressed. His house wasn’t much better. It smelt like cigarette smoke, the TV was always going, and oh yeah- his mother was always home. The same mother who had banned Eddie from seeing the Losers after he came home covered in grime and blood. The ban relaxed after a year or so, but Eddie knew his mother hated Richie. She didn’t like any of the Tozier’s on account of them being Jewish, old bigotry leftover from being on the wrong side of World War 2. Eddie didn’t know if it was It’s influence still running through her veins or if that was just who she was. Eddie saw the way she would look at Stan and Richie whenever they came over- especially Richie because of his foul mouth. When Eddie mentioned that Richie was tutoring him she laughed and asked if he was charging, ‘_you know how his people are greedy like that’_.

‘You’re right,’ Richie said. ‘Look, just come over to my place. We can hole up in my room, catch up. I promise we’ll see as little of my parents as possible.’

Eddie laughed- he was a grown man with a job. Was he really going to go sit in Richie Tozier’s childhood bedroom, afraid of his best friend’s parents? Is that how he was going to spend his night?

At 5:46, Eddie was getting ready to go over to Richie’s place. Eddie looked at himself in the mirror, running a brush through his hair and fixing his maroon sweater. Yes, yes he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thxs again for reading! ^.^ also here https://mrfart69.tumblr.com/post/188014744529/richie-i-never-learnt-how-to-dress-and-i-sure-as is what i hc richie wearing first chapter lmao


	5. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: homophobic slur, nsfw content

Richie was pacing back and forth in his room. He had thought about lighting candles, but he changed his mind- who in the fuck lights candles for their friend coming over? _Friend. Platonic. Eddie. Eddie is a friend. Spell it out, Tozier. F-R-I-E-N-D. So no-one told you life was gonna be this way- Shut up. Stay focused. _

‘You’ve known this kid since kindergarten.’ said the rational side of Richie’s brain.

‘You were Losers together,’ Brain continued. Richie was still trying to get a hold on the past. He knew the big parts. Pennywise. Neibolt. Big Bill. Stan the Man. Mikey. Haystack. Bev. ‘You like Eddie.’

‘Of course I like Eddie.’ Richie thought back.

‘Different kind of like.’ His brain reminded him. Richie inhaled. It wasn’t something he could deny, but he wasn’t stoked to admit it. He did love Eddie. That wasn’t a surprise because he had always loved Eddie- they were best friends. He would go to the end of the world and back for Eddie, for any of the Losers. Richie couldn’t remember when he started getting that ‘different kind of like’ feeling but once he saw Eddie in the department store it hit him like a piano falling from the third story onto an oblivious bystander below.

Richie got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and nervously fixed his shirt. He hoped he looked good. He knew Eddie would. The bottle of wine he had asked his dad for stood tall on his dresser. He’d also brought up two wine glasses to match- that felt adult. That was what adults did, right? They drank wine? Richie was more of coke and rum or vodka and orange juice or anything that could get him drunk within seconds kinda guy- he was sometimes a coke guy and sometimes a weed guy but never, ever a glass of wine guy. There was a quiet knock at his door and Richie stopped his pacing.

‘Yeah?’ He called out.

‘It’s Eddie.’

Richie walked over to the door and opened it.

‘Hey,’ Richie said, looking Eddie up and down. He still dressed the way he did as a middle schooler, or more accurately, the way his mother dressed him. Like one of those teddy bears you could make at the mall, soft cushy sweaters and plaid pants or pastel polos with tiny shorts that would get girls dress coded. Tonight it was the soft sweater and plaid option.

‘Are you gonna let me in or should I stay in the hallway?’ Eddie asked, before pushing past Richie anyway. Eddie took in Richie’s bedroom, checking out the space. He hadn’t been there in a long time- probably not since 1994. The room hadn’t changed- it was full of wooden furniture his mom had picked up once Richie had grown out of his baby stuff. Richie wanted a race car bed, but he got a polished mahogany bed with claw feet instead. The walls were light blue; the bed sheets a darker blue. Richie had slapped a few posters up on the wall over his lifetime in the house. There was a poster for the Popeye movie starring Robin Williams. Another poster of a spaceship. A UCLA banner was hanging over Richie’s dresser. It was all very neat, tidy. Richie’s bed was even made.

‘Last time I was here… I think there were cum stains on that wall.’ Eddie said, pointing to a spot by Richie’s bed.

‘I was jerking it to the thought of your mom. Always have, always will.’ Richie shut the door. He watched the volume of his voice. Maggie Tozier was xanned out a few rooms over and if he woke the sleeping bear…. Yeesh. He’d be in for it.

‘I never knew you were a romantic like that.’

‘Only for members of the Kaspbrak family.’ Richie said, realizing he was saying the wrong thing before he could even stop the words from getting out. Thankfully, Eddie didn’t take it the wrong way. He just laughed and flopped himself onto Richie’s bed.

‘What the shit are you listening too, dude?’ Eddie looked over to Richie’s small stereo set up. Richie had slapped on one of his parent’s old albums. He had been too busy overthinking his entire life to pay attention.

‘Probably the same stuff they were listening too when they marched into France,’ Richie responded, moving to sit next to Eddie. Eddie quickly hopped off the bed and started sifting through Richie’s music collection, back to Richie.

‘D’ya have any Dolly Parton?’ Eddie pulled out some vinyl album and started inspecting it. Richie sat back and watched Eddie go through all his stuff.

‘Hmm, let me think. No. No way.’

‘She’s literally a fuckin’ genius, so I don’t know why you wouldn’t.’ Eddie said, putting away the record he had been holding, making sure it went back into the same spot he took it from. Eddie’s neat mannerisms were always a funny contrast with his colourful language and Richie was smiling like a dork.

‘Because I’m a man, and men don’t have Dolly Parton records.’

‘I have Dolly Parton records.’

Richie got up from his spot on the bed and moved over to Eddie, who was looking at the cover of Richie’s Guns N’ Roses album. Richie took it from Eddie’s hands and put it back on the shelf. He took out his favourite The Cure album and got it playing. Eddie rolled his eyes. Richie knew Eddie liked all that girly music, but The Cure had wind chimes and stuff- that was kinda girly. Compromise, right?

‘I know you think you’re cool because you don’t listen to Madonna, but, like, this is just bad music.’ Eddie declared.

‘Bad music! Bad music? Fuck you, bad music.’

‘It’s just wah, wah, wah. I’m heartbroken. Wah! It’s boring.’

‘It’s only boring because it’s not raining men, or whatever the hell you like.’ Richie said, as if he hadn’t made Eddie a thousand mixtapes throughout high school that he had never worked up the guts to send, never sure where either of their feelings stood. Or if it was even okay to acknowledge those feelings, which it wasn’t. Hell, or if those feelings were ever reciprocated, which, let's face it, they probably weren’t.

‘One day, when I’m dead, you’ll appreciate the genius of Its Raining Men. Or any song that’s not fucking boring.’

‘Give it a chance, Eddie.’ Richie said. Eddie paused to listen to the song playing. He pulled a face after not even two seconds. ‘Fuck you, drama queen.’

Eddie grinned and sat back down on Richie’s bed. The room was warm, radiator heat filling the cozy space. The sweater Eddie was wearing was too hot and he took it off, a black t-shirt underneath. It made him look skinnier than he already was, but Richie was in no way against the view he was getting. He looked more like Eddie and less like Sonia Kaspbrak’s pet project. The two got into the wine bottle, foregoing the glasses altogether as they alternated sips and filled in the details of each other’s lives. Richie caught Eddie up on the full details of UCLA, on him and Alexis. Eddie sat quietly through the description, nodding. Eddie told Richie about his adventure to New York and then his dreaded return to Derry. That Eddie was back on his medications.

‘Wait, I thought- I thought you found out they were gazebos?’ Richie asked. He knew he was slurring his words already. Geez, two years of college binge drinking shoulda built up a tolerance.

‘Those were.’ Eddie confirmed with another nod.

‘Wha?’ Richie said eloquently.

‘Like, the ones that I was on then were. But then there- new ones. New ones that are real.’ Eddie explained, nodding at his own words. He was enjoying the effect of the wine.

‘So more pills?’

‘Yeah. Mommy-‘ Richie giggled. Eddie glared and continued speaking. ‘Mom went to the doctors again and got new ones. I gotta heart problem, and I gotta migraine problem, and I gotta lung problem-‘

‘Asthma?’ Richie reminded.

‘Yeah, I gotta asthma still and I got all the pills for ‘em.’

‘And those are the real, real ones?’

Eddie nodded, maybe not as sure as his other nods, and snatched the bottle from Richie’s hand. Eddie closed his eyes as he drank. Richie watched Eddie’s adam's apple as he drank, how it bobbed up and down. He knew he was staring but he couldn’t help himself. Eddie finished his swig and handed the bottle to Richie.

‘Alright, truth or dare, Eddie Spaghetti?’ Richie asked, putting on a playful grin.

‘Truth.’ Eddie said, an utter conviction in his choice. Truth was boring. He could have dared Eddie to eat his snot or something equally disgusting. Truth always led to hurt feelings, at least in Richie's experience with the game. There was that one time Ben had picked truth and admitted to his crush on Bev to the group. Bev had already moved away by that point, but he and Bill got in a fight over it. Richie thought of all the questions he could ask- which ones were the least inflammatory, but still fun. Did you miss me? That was too sensitive, Richie wasn’t sensitive. Why don’t you tell your mom to go to hell and go live the life you want? A good question, but that would probably ruin the mood. Eddie might get pissed off and go home. Richie didn’t want him to leave. Alright, how about this-

‘So, you never had a girlfriend-‘

‘Yeah, and what fucking of it, dickwad?’ The spitfire in Eddie came out, getting ready to fight Richie if he crossed a line.

‘So have you ever... y’know, done the do?’

Eddie’s blush was answer enough. He started to stammer out an answer, but Richie laughed too much to hear it. Baby Eddie. Poor Eddie baby. Richie imagined Eddie having sex. He’d probably try to use Purell as lube. Eddie kicked Richie from across the bed. Richie caught his foot, still giggling.

‘Hey, fuck you. It’s not fucking funny.’ Eddie growled, losing his patience.

Richie laughed harder, nearly falling off the bed.

‘You know what- why’d you kiss me?’

‘What?’ Richie stopped laughing immediately.

‘Truth, Tozier. On prom night, why’d you kiss me?’ Eddie repeated, angry.

‘That’s not how the game works.’ Richie said.

‘I don’t care. Tell me.’

Richie looked at Eddie, who was a ball of rage. He was nearly shaking. Richie remembered prom night. He had kissed Eddie when he was wasted. He remembered it as soon as he saw Eddie, along with every other trauma that had gone down on Derry soil. He also remembered getting called a faggot at the arcade. He remembered every single instance of hatred thrown his way for even attempting to acknowledge what was inside him.

‘It was a joke, Eddie.’

‘I said truth.’ Eddie demanded.

‘I can’t tell you.’ Richie said.

‘Fine, then I dare you to kiss me.’ Eddie said. Richie was going to protest, but Eddie cut him off. ‘If you can’t do the truth, you have to do the dare. That’s the rules.’

‘Eddie, dude…’

‘Fuck you!’ Eddie nearly shouted. He remembered that Mrs. Tozier was sleeping a few doors down and quieted his voice. ‘You’re a fucking coward.’

Eddie stared Richie down from across the bed, daring him to make a fucking move. Richie stared back. There were always those moments of clarity before something happened- where you can remember every detail and the way the ‘what if’ hangs thick in the air. In the low light, Richie could count every single freckle Eddie had, each dark hair on his head. The look Eddie was giving him- anger and determination. Richie felt his hands getting sweaty, gross, but not the point. The point was Eddie was asking Richie to kiss him.

‘Okay.’ Richie agreed. Eddie let out a small breath. Richie found himself letting one out as well, unaware that he’d been holding one in.

Richie moved across the bed, Eddie was leaning against his headboard. A few awkward scoots and grabs and they were so close Richie could feel the air coming out of Eddie’s nostrils and hitting his neck. Richie met his eye in a moment of hesitation. Before he could ask Eddie if he was sure, Eddie grabbed Richie’s face and smashed their lips together. Unlike prom night, their lips met square on. Richie could tell Eddie was wearing a minty chapstick because guess what? He was kissing Eddie. Or Eddie had kissed him. Nonetheless, they were kissing. Holy shit, they were kissing. Eddie’s hands held Richie’s face in place and Richie reached a hand to the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling them even closer. Eddie opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, tongues meeting. They both tasted like wine and now Eddie’s leg was pulling Richie’s body on top of Eddie’s, Eddie’s hips bucking up to meet Richie’s.

Through two sets of underwear and pants, Richie could feel Eddie rubbing against him and it was so, so good. Richie matched Eddie’s friction, smiling into the kiss because this was everything he had ever wanted. It felt like every single atom in his body was going fuckin’ nuts- every neuron was shooting off at the speed of light and Richie was never the greatest at science so he knows that’s probably the wrong metaphor but it didn’t fucking matter because now Eddie’s lips were on his neck, sucking on just the right spot. He tried to hold back a groan and failed miserably. Eddie laughed into his neck before pulling back and pushing Richie onto his back, clambering on top. He sat on top of Richie as if he had just conquered the world. Richie looked up at him. Eddie’s pupils nearly took up his whole eye- he was completely flushed. As always, Eddie was gorgeous. Eddie took his hand and placed it on top of Richie’s bulge, over his jeans, careful. He looked down at Richie and leaned down to kiss him again- then there was a knock at the door.

Eddie rocketed himself off Richie, back to where he had originally been sitting, banging his head against the headboard, and Richie panicked and rolled himself onto the floor. He landed on his pelvic bone and hissed.

‘Boys?’ His dad asked from the other side of the door.

Richie cleared his throat.

‘Yeah, dad?’ He called out.

‘I’m just heading up to bed. Eddie, you’re welcome to stay the night if you’d like, just turn the music down, please.’ Mr. Tozier said.

‘Sure dad.’ Richie called.

‘Thanks, Mr. Tozier.’ Eddie said at the same time, his voice ragged.

Richie reached out to his stereo and turned the music down a few levels. The two boys listened as Mr. Tozier’s slippers padded down the hallway and away from Richie’s door. They were in the clear. Richie turned to look up at Eddie who looked like he had shit his pants with fright.

‘Are you sure you’re a virgin?’ He teased, readjusting his glasses. Eddie didn’t laugh or shout anything back. He sat there, staring at Richie with a look he couldn’t decipher. 

‘You have a girlfriend.’ Eddie said quietly.

‘I mean, technically, yeah, but I’ll dump her-‘

‘No. No, what the fuck are you talking about? Richie, are you stupid?’

‘What do you mean?’ Richie carefully stood up and crossed his arms, trying to keep his voice at a whisper.

‘This- it’s not something that can happen.’ Eddie got himself off the bed. He was waving his hands up and down and he started walking back and forth. He was freaking out.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ Richie asked, hating how insecure his voice sounded. He watched Eddie walk.

‘Yes- no. No, it’s my fault. I’m not like- you.’ Eddie explained poorly. He stopped his pacing and stood to face Richie. Eddie’s face was grim. Any blush from moments early had dissipated, but Eddie’s hair was messed up and his shirt had come untucked and it was just a reminder than Richie had fucked up- Eddie wasn’t like him. Eddie was pure and good.

‘I’m sorry.’ Eddie said, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but Richie’s face. Eddie didn’t have anything to apologize for, Richie thought. Richie was the mastermind of this entire thing. He’d brought the wine; the empty bottle had ended up on his nightstand. Richie had started the game of truth or dare. Richie hadn’t told the truth. It was his fault, so why was Eddie the one apologizing?

‘It’s okay.’ He said anyway. He wasn’t sure what else to say, his heart was busy cracking into a thousand tiny pieces.

‘I- I gotta go.’ Eddie grabbed his sweater and put it back on in one swift motion. ‘I’ll see you, Richie.’

‘See you.’ Richie agreed, barely audible. Eddie looked Richie up and down and left the room. He closed the door gently behind him, careful not to wake any sleeping parents. Richie wasn’t sure how long he stood there after Eddie left, staring at the ground. He tried really hard not to cry. He bit his tongue and tried to take deep breaths even though he wanted to fucking scream- punch a wall or something. All he could do was sink to the floor and try his hardest not to breakdown in tears. He didn’t deserve to cry.


	6. Not Exactly Twenty-Seven Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal thoughts, alcohol abuse, verbal abuse

‘I like my relationships two ways- off the walls crazy or fuckin’ nothing.’ Richie said into the microphone. There were a few small giggles from the audience. At this point, he was still writing his own material. _Don’t fuck this up, Tozier._

‘Like, batshit crazy or non-existent,’ Richie stressed. ‘Like, I dated this one chick in college and we would just shout and fuck and shout and fuck and then she burnt all my stuff in the quad when I broke up with her.’ The audience waited for the punch-line, only a few chuckles echoing through the bar.

‘So that’s basically the long way of saying I need therapy.’ The laughs hit. Richie took a sip from the plastic water bottle in his hand. He placed it back down on the wooden stool. Usually, the jokes landing would give him something- adrenaline, joy, anything. He wasn’t feeling much of anything these days.

‘Thanks so much, guys. Have a great evening.’ Richie waved at the audience and the stage lights shut off. He made his way to the wings, a fellow comic giving him a high-five as they traded spots. Richie wasn’t opening tonight. He was second from the close which was an okay enough spot- half of the audience was drunk enough to love it, the other half was too tired to heckle him. He still didn’t have a dressing room, but hey. He was young. He had a long way to go. For now, the routine was to go to class, give half a shit, write new bits or practice old ones instead of taking notes, be at the comedy club by 5, preform by 11, get hammered until 2 A.M. On his days off, he’d sleep until 2 in the afternoon and then stay in his room the rest of the day, watching TV or getting stoned. _Look at me go, mom. _

Ever since he broke up with Alexis he’d just been empty. Something was missing and Richie figured it wasn’t her- he had never really loved her. Not like he had ever loved anyone, so what would he know, but he knew Alexis wasn’t the one. It felt like he’d gone home for winter break and come back depressed, and he had no clue why. So Richie started working hard. He’d write and write and hang out with all the older comics, learning. Everyone thought he was doing fine- he was the same as he had always been on the outside. All impressions and dick jokes. Underneath, something was missing. A huge part of him was just gone.

He went to the campus doctor. He rarely went, but a little voice told him that was the right thing to do.

‘How long have you felt this way?’

‘Since winter break, so, like, five months?’ Richie responded. 

The doctor looked down at her clipboard and read it back over. He checked all the boxes. Richie left with a Prozac prescription, as well as some pamphlets about major depressive disorder and the campus’s therapy programs that Richie threw away- he wasn’t some sissy who needed to lay down on a couch and whine about his shitty life. There were people dying in Africa or something.

Be it time or the pills, Richie started feeling again, like when he got a really good laugh from some new material. Or when he was walking home from the club and he could see the stars through the L.A. smog. He imagined someone else was looking up at the same stars somewhere else. Richie would never admit that he believed in soul mates, but it was a nice thought.

When Richie graduated, his parents managed to fly out and see him walk the stage for his diploma. They also looked away when Richie flashed his nipples to the entire audience, met with uproarious laughter. He ran before they could take the diploma back, laughing the whole way. At the class after party, a familiar face approached him. Robbie fuckin’ Adams.

‘I didn’t know you were so toned, Richie.’ He said, drink in hand.

‘I drew on my abs with sharpie, they’re not real.’

‘You’re still a hunk.’ Robbie said with a wink, lowering his voice.

‘Fuck off, man. I’m not into that.’ Richie responded. He downed what was left of his drink and pushed off the bar, and left Adams standing alone.

In March 1997 Sonia Kaspbrak passed away. Eddie held her hand as she took her last, heavy breaths. After the small funeral, Eddie went back to New York and went got back into school. When he met Myra he remembered the way Richie had teased him about not having a girlfriend. _Look at me go, Rich._ Myra was kind and supportive, Eddie thought, but sometimes she made comments, little remarks.

‘You’d be much more handsome if you got your nose fixed up.’

‘You know, Cathy’s boyfriend _actually_ tries.’

Or in the heat of an argument: ‘Maybe if weren’t such a coward you’d marry me!’

Eddie had his doubts sometimes about being with Myra. Who didn’t have doubts about their partner, right? It was normal. Eddie was fine- they would be fine; they would be happy. Myra was studying to be in HR, Eddie focused on his finance studies and got a safe job as a risk analyst. He had to be able to support her, to be a good boyfriend. The two of them moved in together as soon as they could afford it, buying a nice one-bedroom. It had crown moulding and they liked each other well enough.

Myra always wanted to get a cat but Eddie’s allergies couldn’t stand it. She understood. She’d even set up his pills for him, putting each tablet into its proper date- M, T, W, T, F, S, S. When Eddie got sick, she’d rub Vicks on his chest and make sure he got all the anti-biotics he could dream of. In return, Eddie always made sure Myra never had to work too hard and that she got everything her heart desired- trips to Disney (both world and land), a new flat screen, eventually, a husband.

‘You don’t have a best man?’ Myra had asked as they planned, sat together in their living room with wedding magazines strewn over the table. Piles of cream, eggshell, ivory. Their wedding would be everything Myra could ever dream of, Eddie would make sure of it. 

‘I don’t need a best man,’ Eddie poked her on the nose. Myra giggled. ‘I have you.’ 

‘Are you sure? Nobody from Maine?’ She asked, big blue eyes staring at him from a round, pale face.

Eddie shrugged. He couldn’t remember much of Derry. ‘I say we go with pearl white.’

They got married in 2004 at a small chapel, decorated with flowers and tulle. Myra looked like a giant, white, puffy hot air balloon- but in a good way, of course. _You love her_, Eddie kept telling himself. He repeated that thought the morning of the wedding. He repeated that thought as she walked down the aisle. He repeated that thought as he signed the marriage document. _You love her._

Richie got an audition for SNL. He didn’t get the spot, but it didn’t bother him that much. Or he’d never say that it bothered him. He was actually managing to make a living in the clubs. He was paying for his own tiny apartment and was making all his bills on time. He even had an agent, which was fucking insane.

He spent a lot of time in bars, it was practically a job requirement. The same habits from college followed him but now they were mixed with his anti-depressants. For the most part, he just got killer headaches and spent an embarrassing amount of time on the shitter, either vomiting or, y’know, shitting his brains out. He wasn’t too sure they were doing their job, especially when Richie found himself on the ledge of a bridge. His footing was shaky at best and he saw the water tricking 40 or so feet below. Richie was wasted, as per usual, and his group of friends were laughing somewhere off in the distance. He could just end it all now if he wanted too. He could get rid of this rotten feeling inside of him that never went away. Even on his best days, it lingered in the back of his head. It could just all go away with one step.

His foot slipped out from under him.

Richie caught himself on the bridge’s support wire. Fuck- nope! No, he didn’t want to die. Not yet. He had plans! He had hopes! He wanted an Emmy! He wanted to love someone. He pulled himself back onto the steady ground, huffing. That was the most exercise he’d done in years. Maybe he should start working out. Richie swung back onto the main part of the bridge and promptly vomited. His friends saw him puking up his guts and howled with laughter.

He got a spot in a movie a few months after that. ‘Good Cops’. Richie wasn’t into the role his agent, Marty, bagged for him- a gay bank robber with a lisp. It was something that would one day be called a ‘product of its time’ and a 'problematic mess', by teenage boys trying to be offensive and teenage girls who had never experienced real-life, respectively. 

‘It’s a feature, Rich, you gotta do it- no, skim milk, no sugar, Jesus fucking Christ.’ Marty said, rotating between Richie, the barista, and his blackberry. 

Richie watched the barista toss out the drink. ‘I don’t know dude, it’s real fuckin’ gay. I don’t want that to be my image.’

‘Fine, don’t do it. Stay an SNL reject, stay in the clubs. This- this role is how you move for- no fuckin’ milk, how hard is this? Make it again. Richie. This is how you move forward.’

At the premiere, the whole theatre laughed when he was on screen, especially when he came out with a feather boa and a machine gun. Richie watched himself fall into the arms of a man with a six-pack and felt uneasy. He could remember Marty turning to look at him with a grin- _‘_it’s only up from here, kid’_. _

Myra wanted kids. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was his list of medical issues that resulted in him shooting blanks or if it was Myra’s weight that was making things complicated. They tried really hard, but nothing came of it. Eddie heard Myra crying one night- she had shut herself up in their bedroom. The next day he came home with a hypo-allergenic cat. Myra named the tabby Mr. Alexander. Eddie didn’t mind not having any kids. The mess, the cost, the literal shit he’d have to clean up- on top of all that, he was worried he’d just mess them up. Eddie figured you couldn’t mess up a cat.

One night they were flipping through TV channels and landed on Just For Laughs. A clip of what the night’s stand-up special had- Patton Oswalt, a Jerry Seinfeld re-run, newcomer Richie Tozier. The clip of Richie showed a guy with thick-rimmed glasses holding a mic to his mouth and laughing as he ran a hand through his hair. His laugh echoed through the dark living room and he was talking about a woman, gesticulating himself having giant breasts and putting on an effeminate voice. Hi-larious. Disrespecting women- how original.

‘Oh, he’s funny- that Richie guy. Did you see him in Good Cops?’ Myra said, patting Eddie on the shoulder. Eddie rolled his eyes and changed the channel. All those comedians sucked. He was pretty sure he had read a tabloid that Tozier didn’t even write his own jokes.

In 2013 Richie was in New York City, doing press for his upcoming special. He visited the Jimmys and sat on their respective couches and didn’t shit his pants, which was insane. He got to host a Saturday Night Live episode and that was probably the highlight of his fucking life (apart from a crazy weekend in Thailand, but that was definitely a different kind of highlight).

Richie wore his ‘I ❤︎ New York’ t-shirt, current girlfriend on his arm. She was an actress- most of his girlfriends were, not that any of them lasted a long time. This one was called Emma and she had gotten the idea into her head that Richie was going to propose.

‘Did you put the ring on my hot-dog?’ She asked as they waited in front of a red-yellow striped hot-dog stand. Hey, it was part of the New York experience.

Richie leaned over and whispered into her ear ‘That’s what he said.’

Eddie was talking to his Blackberry as he walked, in a rush to get to a meeting. There was a small crowd of paparazzi taking photos of some famous couple eating hotdogs- but if they were actually famous Eddie would know who they were. It was New York, there were two-bit celebrities on every street corner.

‘Get out of the fucking way!’ Eddie shouted, barreling through the crowd.

When Eddie got the phone call from Mike Hanlon, he crashed his car. Myra called him back after the abrupt hang up and Eddie took the call from his cell as he tried to deal with the cab driver and the towing company as well as a panicking Myra, all at the same time.

‘Hon, can you pack my bags for me?’ Eddie had asked.

‘Eddie-bear, what are talking about?’ Her voice was shaking more than his.

‘I have to go out of town, I gotta go- I don’t have my fuckin’ insurance papers on me, asshole!’ The cab driver who he had crashed into raised his hands up in defeat, cussing back at Eddie who could feel a migraine coming on.

‘Sweetie, is it the mob?’ Myra asked. ‘I have connections to help, you know.’

‘What? No- no it’s not the mob. It’s… uhm,’ Eddie wasn’t a particularly good liar. He settled for a half truth. ‘Family stuff.’

‘Eddie, baby, you can’t go, you have to stay.’

Eddie really wanted to be a good husband. Good husbands stay with their wives- but he had made a promise. One he couldn’t break and holy shit wasn’t that where the scar on his hand came from? From Derry? Now he was staring at his palm, Myra blubbering into his ear.

‘Eddie, what will I do? If you’re gone there’s nobody here to look after me, Eddie, I need you here. Please, please, please stay!’

‘Myra-‘ Eddie tried to interject.

‘No, no- listen to me. We love each-other! You can’t just leave me alone! Who will help with Mr. Alexander?’

‘He’s a fuckin’ cat, Myra!’

That shut her up.

‘I have to go.’ He said. He could hear Myra’s tears. ‘Look, I’ll be back soon. It’ll just be two days.’

Myra took a deep breath on the other end of the phone.

‘I love you, Eddie-bear.’

‘I love you too.’ He responded. _You love her. _

The sound of a gong echoed through the Jade of The Orient. Beverly Marsh, as beautiful as ever was there with- was that fuckin’ Haystack? When had he gotten hot? And the guy with the glasses- holy shit the guy with glasses. 

‘This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun!’ Richie declared.

And Eddie had to think of something cool to say because holy shit that was Richie so, of course, he said: ‘Look at these guys!’

Richie made eye contact with Eddie and puffed out his cheeks, pointed at Ben and pretended to be chubby behind his back. Eddie held back a laugh. Minutes later the drinks were pouring and everyone was talking, catching up when Eddie mentioned his wife. He had his phone out and Ben had caught a look at the home screen, which was him and Myra on one of their vacations.

‘So, wait, Eddie- you got married?’ Richie said with raised eyebrows. 

‘Why’s that so fuckin’ funny, dickwad?’

‘What, like, to a woman?’

Eddie was thrown back to 1997, standing across from Richie in his bedroom. Eddie said something he hadn’t meant and his lips still had Richie’s spit on them- he had to go. He had to go think, get out of here. He was young and he didn’t know what it meant and he was terrified. He didn't regret doing it. He had liked it, which was an even worse thought. 

‘Hey, fuck you bro.’ Eddie said, pointing a chopstick at him.

Richie slammed down a shot. 'Fuck you!' 

Everything was coming back and it made sense why Richie was teasing him so relentlessly, not that that wasn’t the norm, but the edge in Richie’s voice- that was something. Eddie wasn’t a complete oblivious idiot, in spite of what Myra would say. It was 2 AM and he couldn’t sleep in this stupid townhouse, especially not after how dinner ended, so he went and banged on Richie’s door.

‘Hey, Eddie,’ Richie greeted as he opened the door. Eddie caught a look at Richie’s room, which was a mess. He was obviously still drunk, but had he been packing his bags up? ‘If your lookin’ for a cuddle buddy, Jabba’s back in New York.’

‘Shut up. Are you mad at me?’

‘Only because those pajamas are fuckin’ hideous.’ Eddie looked down at himself. Myra had gotten them for him.

Eddie felt his cheeks go red. ‘If you’re mad at me you can tell me, I won’t be pissed dude.’

‘That feels like a total trap, man.’ Richie said, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. ‘But sure, I guess I am. Because the last time I saw you-‘

‘I know what I did, fuck-head.’

‘Alright.’

Eddie stood there, fuming. Richie looked down at him with a face Eddie couldn’t read. This was usually where people apologized, but Richie had started all of this. Richie had kissed him on prom night. Eddie had just settled the score. Why should he be sorry?

‘It’s fine.’ Richie said, readjusting his stance. ‘That’s just what kids do.’

Eddie bit his lip, tapping his foot. Eddie didn’t think they still counted as kids at twenty. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yeah. Besides, you said you weren’t, uh- that way. And I’m not either, so. It was just a fluke.’

Eddie nodded. Richie also nodded. Richie’s eyes looked Eddie up and down, his irises more black than blue. Eddie caught his eye and felt his mouth go dry.

‘D’you.. Do you wanna come in?’ Richie’s voice went all deep.

‘I’m-’ Eddie tried to speak but had to clear his throat first. ‘I’m married.’

‘Oh,’ Richie was still looking at him with those eyes. ‘Right.’

‘Y-yeah,’ Eddie stammered.

‘Then goodnight, Eddie.’

‘Goodnight.’ Eddie said, cursing at himself inwardly. Richie pushed off the doorframe and took the step back into his room, starting to close the door. ‘Hey, wait-‘

‘Yeah?’ Richie stopped the door.

‘Sweet dreams!’ Eddie exclaimed. _Holy shit, was he that fucking stupid?_

‘Yeah, you too, man.’ Richie said and Eddie could practically hear him rolling his eyes as the door shut the full way. Eddie started whisper shouting expletives at himself, slapping a hand to his forehead as he started to make his way back down the hallway. _Great going, Eds. That’s the second time you left Richie in the lurch. Why are you such an pussy around him? _

Eddie turned around, heading back to Richie’s door. He lifted his hand to knock but he couldn’t connect fist to wood. _C’mon, coward. Do it. _Eddie brought his fist closer and closer to the door, willing every bone in his body to knock- to make a sound. Get Richie back here, with him, and then they could leave together and go be roommates somewhere, San Francisco maybe, and never be sad again. Then they wouldn’t have to fight Pennywise, which Eddie really, really didn’t want to do- it was fucking terrifying, duh. Eddie’s knuckles were nearly grazing the wood, a quarter of an inch from actually touching.

‘Fuck!’ He hissed at himself, pulling his hand away- what was he doing? _Go to bed Eddie. You’re too fragile for this. Think of Myra. Your wife. Jesus Christ, what are you doing?_

Eddie turned away from the door and walked back to his room. Maybe they’d kill the clown for good. Then he could tell Richie what was on his mind- he wasn’t too sure what was actually on his mind, but still- he would try to tell Richie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! thank u for reading again! i love all the comments and love hearing what u guys think :) if u ever want to reach out and talk reddie or have any questions about this fic or whatever my tumblr is mrfart69.tumblr.com 
> 
> anyways, thanks for sticking around this long i hope u guys liked this one and the final chapter will b up sometime this week- probs friday. this probably isn't the total end bcuz i have some oneshots and deleted scenes from here i might upload 
> 
> also its literally so much more fun to write richie before everything bad happens and it hurts my heart making these characters sad :(
> 
> ok thanks lov u bye


	7. What Richie Tozier Knows, Take Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor depictions of violence, alcohol abuse, struggles with mental health

‘Eddie I love you.’ Richie blurts out. He’s standing in front of Eddie’s doors, in his boxers, and Eddie is still in those stupidly adorable pyjamas. Pale blue, little clouds printed all over them. Richie’s pyjamas were just the grey undershirt he’d been wearing all day, as well as the same pair of underwear.

Eddie didn’t react, so Richie kept going.

‘I love you. And I’ve loved you since we were kids, and I think I’m always gonna love you and I’m sorry in advance.’ Richie’s voice was garbled. He looked up, blinked tears out of his eyes and swallowed his fear before he looked back to Eddie.

‘And, like, you’re the only person I’ve ever felt this way about, and uhm, whenever I think of a happy moment you’re like right there beside me, and I wanna hold your hand and I wanna, like, be with you. And only you. And I know I’m a huge fucking idiot, and that’s not gonna change anytime soon, and dude I’m so fucking sorry, but I love you. I really, really, fucking do.’

‘Don’t.’ Eddie says, quietly. ‘Don’t be sorry.’

‘No, I gotta be, because you’re you- and I’m me, and that’s not a thing! Y’know?’ Richie’s arm movements are swinging, manic. ‘Because I know we're friends and I know you don’t see me like that, at all, and I just had to tell you because I can’t- I can’t fuckin’ keep it in anymore. Eddie, I’m so fucking tired of hiding it- but, shit, I didn’t do a really good job. You been by the kissing bridge lately, Eds? Because guess what?’ He was nearly shouting.

‘What, Rich?’

‘Our initials are there, because I put them there, because I love you! Fuck!’ Okay, now he was shouting. ‘I love you!’

‘I-I love you too.’ Eddie says.

‘Okay!’ Richie shouts again. ‘Wait- what?’

‘I love you too.’ Eddie repeats. Richie stops moving and stands completely still. 

‘Say it one more time, please?’ Richie finally manages to say.

‘I love you, too, Richie.’ Eddie smiles. Richie can see the way his smile creases his face, the 5’o clock shadow Eddie would shave off in the morning, the way his jaw softens.

Richie exhales for what feels like the first time in a millennium, pulling Eddie into a kiss. Eddie’s arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him as close and tight as possible for as long as possible. It feels like their weights merge into one, giant mass. Their lips joined are fuckin’ soft as clouds, as light as the air- heaven’s gates are opening by the way their tongues collide and bodies intertwine. Richie can’t tell where he ends and Eddie begins, which always makes waking up alone in bed a real bitch.

He sits up straight. He’s not in the Derry townhouse- he’s back in L.A. He swears he can still feel Eddie’s arms around him, but he’s alone. There’s nobody next to him in a bed that has always felt empty, but now he knows why. Richie missed out on everything. Spent twenty-seven years drifting and not even two days with Eddie before he was gone forever. Richie knew he should have gone to Eddie’s door that night- should have told him the truth. In reality, he’d held a memorial in front of his empty mini-bar for Stan. He’d didn’t know that when he woke up it would be his last day with Eddie.

At least this was one of the better dreams. Other mornings Richie would wake up screaming, Eddie still hanging over him, monster claw poking through his stomach. He could still feel the blood soaking through his clothes, dripping onto his face. It wasn’t getting easier, but Richie could dream. Even if the dreams were ones that ripped his heart from his ribcage with every image of Eddie smiling, or bleeding, or looking at Richie with puppy-dog brown eyes, Eddie was there. Richie could no longer say that about real life.

The only way to Eddie was through his dreams, so he made the choice if you could even call it that, because it wasn’t a choice- it was a need, to spend his days with Eddie. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was getting drunk, because that made things a little more bearable. The only time he left the house was when his agent reminded him he was contractually obligated to show up. He’d slug his way through a show and go home to bed as soon as he possibly could before Marty stopped setting up shows, realizing that Richie showing up wasted was hurting his image more than not showing up at all.

‘Richie, this isn’t coping. This is barely surviving.’ Beverly said softly to him, a hand on his shoulder, his back turned to her. She had made a habit out of checking up on Richie. She’d help him clean up a little bit, maybe inspire him to shower or get a meal that wasn’t from UberEats. Richie grunted in response. He knew he didn’t make things easy for Bev.

‘We all miss them, hon.’

Richie nodded. A lump was growing in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak. Oh, god, and now he was crying. Bev took Richie into her arms.

‘I can’t do it, Bev,’ Richie mumbled into her shoulder, pushing through the sobs wracking his body to get the words out. ‘My heart just hurts all the time.’ 

Richie could feel Bev nodding.

‘I know, Richie.’ She said calmly, patting his hair. Richie let out a huge, shaky sob. He had gotten snot all over her designer-clad shoulder.

He took a deep breath in, tried to calm down. ‘I-I love him.’

Beverly held Richie tighter. She didn’t question. She didn’t yell at him. Richie could breathe a little easier, but the waterworks weren’t stopping. Some sort of weight lifted off him. He’d never told anyone that. Not even Eddie.

‘I loved him so much, Bev.’

‘He loved you too.’ She said. Richie nodded, sniffling. Bev held him a few minutes longer before pulling back to look at him. Richie wiped at his eyes and nose, trying to stop either orifice from spilling.

‘You’ll be okay, Richie,’ She pushed a lock of hair off his forehead that had been matted down with tears. ‘Maybe not for a while, but it’ll get better.’

Richie shook his head no.

‘You will. All of us are here for you, honey.’

Richie leaned on Beverly. She went into her pocket and pulled out a piece of fabric- she always had swatches on her. He blew his nose into her inspiration. 

‘We just have to keep going, okay?’ She kissed the top of his head. Richie nodded. They sat that way until Richie ran out of tears and snot. It took a while. Every time Richie calmed down he’d think of the ‘what-if?’ or the ‘he’s fucking dead’ and be back in tears.

Beverly persuaded Richie to get into a clean change of clothes- she was going to cook him a meal. Richie didn’t have much in his fridge but Beverly managed to pull off pancakes even though it was nearly seven o'clock. Breakfast for dinner- he couldn’t object.

‘Come to New York.’ Bev said as she swallowed her bite. Richie looked up at her. ‘You can be closer to all of us. Ben and I have a spare room, you can stay there as long as you like.’

‘I… are you sure?’

Beverly nodded and smiled. ‘I also won’t be spending so much on plane tickets over here- I’m selfish, sorry.’

Richie did one of those nose laughs. Bev giggled.

By the time spring came around, Richie had settled into New York. He had brought most of Eddie’s stuff with him after inheriting the three suitcases and two bags Eddie had left behind. Richie only had his one duffle bag. Mr. Duffle Bag didn’t talk much anymore, just the occasional quip. Richie understood.

He went through all of Eddie’s things- Eddie had practically packed his entire wardrobe. Richie tried to get a sense of Eddie’s life through all his things- yeah, sure, he had gotten the recap at the first meet up, but Richie didn’t know all the little things. He knew about Eddie as a kid, but who had he grown up to be? Did he still shower three times a day? He didn’t know the way Eddie brushed and styled his hair with the wood handle hairbrush he found. How would Eddie brush his teeth with that travel-sized tube of Crest? Richie had to slowly work his way through Eddie’s things, cherishing each piece like it was a memory or a future, that they could have shared, every sock and every stick of deodorant (of which there were three, for some fucking reason).

_God, he was such a fucking neat freak_, Richie thought as he made a mess of Eddie’s immaculately packed things. He picked apart all his belongings, examined them, and left them out all across Ben and Bev’s guest room. It was a shrine to Eddie Kaspbrak.

When Ben checked in on Richie one evening before bed, he saw the mess that the room had become. Richie was completely unbothered by it, but Ben had to go talk with Bev. They said they would give it a week, see if Richie could get it together. A month passed with no change. One morning, they came into Richie’s room as he slept and tidied everything up, repacking all of Eddie’s things. They stacked the suitcases neatly in the corner of the room.

‘What the fuck did you do!’ Richie shouted as he walked into the kitchen, where the couple were having breakfast. They were waiting, of course, they were- they had planned this whole thing, and how fucking dare they.

‘That’s not a good way to be living, Richie.’ Ben said. He was trying to be comforting, but Richie was in no state for it.

‘Fuck you! What the fuck do you know? You got your fuckin’ happy ending!’

‘Richie,’ Bev spoke. ‘It’s been months. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.’

Richie ran a hand over his face. ‘Fuck you, Beverly. The both of you- fuckin’ conspiring against me, it’s fucking bullshit- it’s all fucking bullshit, don’t touch his fucking things!’

Beverly started to say something, but Richie couldn’t hold himself back.

‘It’s all I fucking have!’ He yelled, his voice breaking. Ben rushed over to Richie and tried to hug him. Richie pushed him off but Ben tried again, bigger and stronger than Richie, and took him into his arms. Richie stood stiff. Ben didn’t let go. Richie closed his eyes and eventually hugged Ben back, crying again. Richie felt like that was all he ever did nowadays.

Living with Ben and Bev forced him to be accountable. He couldn’t sleep all day; he couldn’t drink away the pain when he was awake. They checked in with him every morning to see how he slept- if he slept. As Richie worked his way back into the waking world, his sleep schedule came unhinged. He’d maybe go to bed at midnight and then be up again at 3. He wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep until his afternoon nap, which usually lasted from 2 PM until 6 PM. All three of them got nightmares, so Richie wasn’t alone in his bizarre hours. The Marsh-Hanscom household always had at least one person awake and one asleep. Ben would have dreams about Beverly turning on him, leaving him. Richie could tell that it hurt Bev to hear that, but Bev knew it was just dreams. Bev had her demons - her dad, the whole killer clown deal. She also had weird deja vus every few days, or she would see things- like people she didn’t know, on the other side of the world, just going about their day. That was the deadlights for ya, Richie figured.

He’d been in the deadlights too, right before Eddie-

Mike had said it wasn’t good to focus on the bad memories. Think positive.

Richie didn’t get any visions, but he liked to think that it made him a little wiser- y’know, knowing that all we are is but a speck in the universe and that there’s a giant Turtle called Maturin runnin’ the show. Sometimes that made things easier.

It felt like for every ten bad days, there was one good day. The bad days were insufferable, but he could do it if he had his friends. On the good days, Richie would wake up and shower. He’d try to at least every three days, but couldn’t always get the willpower. He always made sure to shower on the tenth day, even if he had the day before- just to get keep the schedule on track. He would scrub his face using one of Bev’s fancy exfoliators and shave off any stubble. He’d make sure to brush his teeth. Before his return to Derry, he had been more of a Colgate guy. Now, almost half a year later, he had a thing for Crest.

Once he looked like a human, he’d throw on some clean clothes and head out into the world. Ben had said physical activity was important- it would tire out the brain, freshen up the soul. It was hard to not believe someone so kind, so Richie put on his walking sneakers and hit the streets. If that tenth day was one of the really, really good ones, Richie would sit down in a café and try to write. Sometimes it worked, he could crank out a few jokes. Other days he would just write down what he was feeling. The first few times it usually went like this, scrawled out in Richie’s abominable handwriting-

_ I miss him so fucking much_

Then maybe every fifth day was a good day and he was down in that café more often. The barista memorized his order and always did some nice foam art in the cup. He made sure to always tip her kindly. Bill had e-mailed Richie some advice- ‘don’t worry about the ending, just write’. Bill’s endings always sucked and maybe that was why. Richie wrote anyway. 

_I love him I love him I love him _

He kept trying. He didn’t know what he was trying to put down on the page, but he kept writing. He filled up two notebooks, had killed an entire pack of pens, and drunk his weight in low-fat pumpkin spice lattes. Beverly was happy it wasn’t booze. Richie wasn’t an author- he wasn’t a poet. What was he doing writing in a café, trying to be deep? Why not do what he knows?

‘Marty, I wanna get back into it.’ Richie said into his cellphone, sitting on his bed, criss-cross apple sauce.

‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rich- it’s three in the shittin’ morning.’

‘Yeah, whatever- tell Gina I say hi. Can you get me a spot at one of the clubs?’

‘Gina, sweetie, Richie says hi.’ Marty says to his wife. The phone is handed over to Gina.

‘Mm, hi Richie- how are things?’ She says. Richie can imagine her with curlers in and cold cream on.

‘Fine, Gina. How are you?’ Richie rubs his brow.

‘Oh, you know how I get around this time of the year- my bones, Rich. It’s the arthritis, everything just starts locking up, and I can’t get around- do you know about Soul Cycle, Rich? I swear- it is a godsend. I know you get blue every now and then, but this is a wonder, my gosh. It cures everything! You should try it sometime- I have a coupon. Next time you’re in L.A!

‘That’s amazing Gina. Is Marty still there?’

‘Yes, he is, Rich. Let me get him. Marty!’

Through the shitty phone quality, he hears Marty squawk ‘What?’

Marty got Richie into one of those upper-mid-tier clubs, reserved for the seasoned to practice their material and the young ones to get their start. He didn’t like that he fell into the ‘seasoned’ category. It made him feel old. Richie looked over to his Marty, who was standing in the wings. Marty gives him two thumbs up.

‘I think when you’re a kid, everything is easier.’ Richie started. He took hold of the microphone, fixed it to match his height.

‘There’s no evil and your parents are superheroes, right? You get your first boner and it’s amazing.’ Richie took the microphone from the stand. He held it against his pant’s zipper, slowly turning it up towards the ceiling, faking amazement. The audience laughed. ‘Then you get a little bit older and things get harder- pun intended- and you fall in love with your best friend, which you totally didn’t mean to do, and you realize some things- like, love even isn’t a big enough word to describe the way you feel about them.’

‘You realize some things aren’t meant to be. No matter how much you want them to be- and fuck, sorry- this isn’t funny.’ Richie ran a hand through his hair. He stood that way for a solid two minutes before making his next move. ‘Jesus Christ. You guys paid to be here.’

A few uncomfortable chuckles were emanating from the audience, but it was mostly the sound of clinking glasses at the bar and the subway rumbling underneath their feet. Richie looked back to his agent, who was biting his nails.

‘Um, when I was younger, I think- no, I _was_ a worse comic. I was really offensive. A bit of a misogynist, kind of homophobic,’ He remembered why people had to write his material for him- he was a mess. ‘And I don’t think I ever said sorry. So I’ll say it now- I’m sorry. It all came from a place of, um, insecurity, and uh- to make a long story very fuckin’ short, I’m gay.’

The glasses stopped clinking. Nobody laughed. A few phones recorded him; Richie could see the little flashes pointed at him from the dark.

‘I’m gay, and I’m not fucking with you guys.’

The silence lasted maybe a second until someone started clapping and let out a huge ‘woo!’. Richie squinted against the lights and saw the Losers standing in the back of the club. All of the Losers, for a brief second, his eyes fighting against the light. Eddie leaned against the wall, clapping. Stan was whooping and hollering next to him. Richie gave them a small wave. Eddie mouthed something Richie couldn’t hear, but he knew well enough.

Richie blinked, and Eddie and Stan were gone. It was just Bev, Ben, Mike, and Bill in the back of the club, cheering him on.

‘Maybe Ellen will have me on her show now?’ Richie said. He could hear Bev’s laugh rising over the crowd. ‘I think _she’d_ be homophobic if she didn’t.’

‘Also, can we talk about that? Like, it’s 2017 and you still give a shit about who fucks who? About whose sucking whose dick- and for the ladies, whose eating whose clit?’ The audience was split between cheers of agreement and laughs that came right from the belly.

When Richie walked off stage at the end of his set, after the standing applause and encore, his agent stuck a phone in his face- he was trending on twitter. Marty was taking a call from a producer in L.A. who wanted to get Richie on some talk show. Marty patted Richie on the back as Richie walked by. Richie mouthed a ‘thank you’.

Richie opened the door to his dressing room and grabbed his wallet and coat. Hung on the back of the door was Eddie’s red scarf. Richie took that and wrapped it around his neck, nice and tight. It still smelt like Eddie. He still had Eddie’s baggage in the corner of his room- he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He kept it around, though. He wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Richie exited through the side door of the club. The general audience was loitering around down in the main street, waiting to bombard Richie with photos and questions. Richie already knew how it would go. 

_Have you always been gay? Yes. _

_So you like cock? That’s kinda what gay means, dude. _

_Why’d you play such negative gay characters? I hated myself. _

_What about your past girlfriends? It’s called denial. Deep, deep denial. _

_Do you have a boyfriend now? _

The Losers had been waiting for him in the alleyway. Richie looked at them through the small window in the door, zipping up his jacket. Eddie would have hated it if he got sick. He was sure The Losers had a few drinks at the bar- they were flushed and smiling from cheek to cheek, even though the January snowflakes had started to gather on their hair and shoulders. Richie saw the way Bev and Ben looked at each other and finally understood why they liked that January embers line in the poem they’d always recite to each other, whispered over morning coffees or mumbled as they all watched TV together.

How’d it go? My heart burns there too? Richie and Eddie’s poem went a little different- I fucked your mom.

Bev and Ben clung to each other for warmth and Mike was layered up- he had gotten used to the Florida sun. Bill still had a beer in his hand. He beamed at Richie, who had gotten his ending. It was a damned good one, Bill thought. Bill tried his best to clap and not spill his drink as Richie came outside.

‘Great job!’ Mike said, patting Richie on the back. Mike passed Richie a bouquet, which was super cheesy. Who was he, a virgin theatre kid playing Sandy in a high-school production of Grease?

‘Thanks, Mikey. Means a lot.’ Richie said. He could feel his eyes starting to get misty. They stood there. There wasn’t a need for words at that moment. Ben reached over and wrapped an arm around Richie, then Bev was hugging his side, Mike on the other, and Bill was on his front. Richie tried his hardest to wrap his arms around all of them at once. 

By 40 years old, Richie Tozier knew a few things. He knew that he was a Loser, he always had been. He always will be. He knew that he was loved, and there was no doubt in his mind about that as his friends took him into their arms. He also knew that he was in love, and he always would be, with his best friend. For the first time, that was okay. He would be proud, as per Stan’s request. The letter sat in the top drawer of his dresser.

Richie pulled back from the hug and wiped away the tears in his eyes.

‘I think I’m hitting menopause, guys.’

‘Beep-beep, Richie,’ Bev slapped his shoulder, laughing as she wiped at her own eyes. Ben kept his arm around Richie and rested his head on Richie’s shoulder. Bill pulled back, laughing. He was careful not to spill his beer as Mike bumped into him gently, the four of them standing in a circle. There were two human-sized gaps. Bev smiled at the empty spaces before looking over at Richie, who was seeing the same thing. The three other boys were chatting, wondering where to get dinner- maybe Chinese? Does the Jade of the Orient have a Brooklyn location? Beverly took Richie’s hand in her own.

Richie Tozier knew he’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all for reading!!! means the world and i hope u enjoyed this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it ! :-D
> 
> also richie b like: deadlights didn't do shit  
but also richie: sees his dead friends

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading :)


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